


The Outside Man

by Snooky



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 42,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooky/pseuds/Snooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Olsen's story, and how and why he became known as the "Outside Man." It's not as easy and simple as you might think. Archive warnings for angst/violence in first several chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_A/N: First, I would like to thank Jennaya for graciously letting me use this title, even though it appeared we were both working on a story about Olsen, at the same time._

_Second: Again, I must thank Bits and Pieces for handling the beta work for all of my chapters and for her specific help with formatting the beginning of this story._

_Third: Thank you ColHogan for your input._

_Warning: The first chapters in this story may be a bit intense and emotional._

 

**Winter 1942**

"'Ere comes another one." Corporal Peter Newkirk nudged his friend, Louis LeBeau, who glanced up from a tub of water and watched the truck holding more prisoners come to a stop near the Kommandant's office.

"That's five this week," LeBeau noted. The small prisoner of war camp, built to handle overflow from another NCO camp, was now reaching capacity. The French corporal sighed in frustration. His elation over America's entry in the war had quickly been tempered by the obvious losses suffered by Allied fighters. New prisoners had also brought bad news from the Pacific. LeBeau removed the shirt he was washing, wrung it out and hung it on the line. "Merde, it's cold," he complained. "This shirt will probably freeze." He blew on his hands. "We should tell the colonel about the truck," he reminded Newkirk.

"You're right. I'll get him." Newkirk walked back into the barracks. Colonel Hogan, the camp's new Senior POW Officer, was seated at the table in the common room. With him was one of the more recent arrivals, an American sergeant, James Kinchloe.

"Sir, a truck just rolled in," Newkirk informed him.

"Thanks, Newkirk." The colonel put down his mug of coffee and stood up.

"Looks like we're starting to resemble Grand Central Station," Kinch commented.

Hogan smiled at the sergeant's quip. "Time to run interference." He grabbed his jacket and cap, left the barracks and headed across the compound.

LeBeau was observing the truck, and was curious how many prisoners were inside. The driver was discussing something with Sergeant Schultz, the Kommandant's Sergeant at Arms, and most likely processing paperwork. Finally, the sergeant opened up the doors and waited. There was only one prisoner inside and he had to be prodded to come out.

"Move it." The guard inside the truck poked the prisoner with his rifle. The prisoner, an American sergeant, shuddered, then slowly made his way to the edge and hesitated.

Schultz sympathetically held out his hand and helped the man down. He took the prisoner's Red Cross satchel. "This way," he said kindly as he glared at the other guard. The sergeant followed Schultz into the building, all the while looking down at the ground, stumbling every few steps.

The whole scenario was observed by LeBeau. Newkirk had come back out and Hogan was walking towards the office. Newkirk was surprised. "I wonder what happened to that bloke?"

"Whatever it was, it wasn't good." LeBeau had not had an easy time of it at the transit camp and he knew that most of the prisoners suffered similar fates, but this prisoner looked completely broken; not his body, but his spirit, he realized.

Hogan had quickened his pace and arrived at Klink's office seconds behind Schultz and the new prisoner. The colonel had arrived at Stalag 13 at the end of the previous year, a month after being shot down near Hamburg. He had spent a month being shuttled between various interrogation centers and transit camps, an experience he refused to discuss and that he tried to put out of his mind. Even from a distance, he could recognize the signs and the look. The door to Klink's office had not completely closed, when Hogan walked in without an invitation.

"Colonel Hogan, what is the meaning of this? You can't just waltz…"

Hogan brazenly interrupted the Kommandant. "Regulations, sir. You can't interrogate a new prisoner without the senior officer present." That was not entirely true. Klink had often processed new prisoners before, without Hogan being present, but Hogan found Klink generally tended to avoid arguments. Klink and Hogan stared at each other and agreed for the moment to an unspoken truce. Klink needed to maintain his authority and couldn't verbally buckle, but he didn't throw Hogan out of the office, either.

The two then moved their attention to the prisoner standing in front of them. Hogan got a better look at the soldier, who was slightly swaying and was still looking down at the floor. He was, he guessed, in his mid twenties, similar build to his own, but thinner.

"Name, rank and serial number, that's all, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir," he paused and looked up. "Olsen, Brian. Sergeant, 12829410." He swayed a bit more, and then again cast his eyes downward.

Klink had the sergeant's paperwork on the desk in front of him. He and Hogan glanced at each other. "Sergeant Olsen." He looked up as Klink addressed him.

"Yes, Sir." The sergeant stared at the Kommandant as he gave his usual welcoming speech.

Klink then introduced Hogan, who was observing Olsen. "You'll be assigned to barracks…"

"Two, Kommandant," Hogan interrupted.

Klink looked up in surprise.

"We have the room, Sir."

"Very well, Barracks two. Schultz…"

Olsen briefly glanced at Hogan, who nodded. He watched Schultz gently guide the sergeant out the door and then began to follow.

"You're not dismissed," Klink stated. "Sit down," he ordered.

Hogan turned, sat and peered at Klink. He knew he had overstepped his bounds. The colonel waited impatiently for the Kommandant to make the first move. _Easy, Rob. Make him think he's in control._

Klink pulled his chair in, removed his monocle, cleaned it, put it back, then rested his elbows on his desk and looked at the American officer. _Make him wait. Let him know who's boss._

The two men had been participating in a unique dance for the past few months. After a short initial period of what Klink would have considered normal behavior for a prisoner thrust into Hogan's situation, the colonel had begun to change. He had increasingly become more brazen, oddly cheerful, sarcastic, and occasionally fawning. Klink had no clue what had happened, but the camp was running at peak efficiency, there had been no recent escape attempts and even his guards seemed happier. But that was another issue.

"Colonel Hogan. What prompted you to force your way into this office without an invitation? I could have you thrown into the cooler for this."

Hogan was half listening, while at the same time trying to read the file left open on Klink's desk, upside down. The only item visible was Olsen's prisoner card. That held little useful information. Klink realized what Hogan was doing and nervously shut the file.

"Kommandant. I was wrong." Hogan raised the tone of his voice a notch higher. "I'm sorry, but, the prisoner they just brought in… Can I see his file?" He asked hopefully.

Klink had to admire the colonel's guts. In one sentence, apologizing for an infraction and then asking to see classified material.

"No, you can't. Besides," he added, "You wouldn't understand it, anyway."

 _Ha_. Hogan thought to himself. He leaned closer to the desk. "Anything in there you can tell me? Something happened to the kid." He decided to appeal to Klink's humanity. He hoped it was in there somewhere.

Klink's face softened. Something must have happened to the sergeant. Klink was no monster. He had a job to do, but he did see his prisoners as fellow human beings. He was old enough to be the father of many of them. It had been a while since he had seen that look. He opened the file and quickly glanced at the contents. "There's nothing of any significance, here, Colonel," he said. "Shot down in a raid near Düsseldorf. We have the information to send to the Red Cross."

"I'm sure some things may have been conveniently left out, Sir." Hogan's eyes showed a spark of anger.

Klink, momentarily flustered, decided to let the comment go. He dismissed Hogan with a warning, while he himself wondered what had happened to his newest charge.

The same thought was on Hogan's mind as he walked back to the barracks.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter two_

_Dusseldorf, Germany 1931_

"You little sneak! You beat me again."

The young girl squealed in delight. "Another game, Brian. Please!!" She started to reset the checkerboard.

"I can't. I need to catch up on my schoolwork." The six year old pouted. "Don't look at me like that, Sara. Tomorrow." Brian doted upon his younger sister, but he was behind. "I promise."

"Promise? Really?"

"Really." Brian chuckled, and patted his sister's head. "Here, put the game away. That's the winner's job." The fourteen year old left his sister the task of cleaning up and found a quiet corner in the kitchen. Spreading out his books, he began to methodically tackle his homework. Like most teens, he chose his favorite subject first, math, and quickly finished his problems. History, his least favorite, was put on the back burner and just grudgingly given the once over. Besides, he preferred his mother's tutoring in American history. The German schoolmasters, he felt, focused on their own country and its problems, which made sense. European history was to him, too overwhelming. Too many wars, kings, popes and countries.

Sometimes he wished he could have gone to the American private school, set up for foreign nationals working at various positions in the area. But his mother and father insisted that he attend a public school. "If you live in someone elses country, Brian, you need to live with people to get to know them." His mother, herself a daughter of German immigrants to America, was adamant and her husband, first a diplomat, now a visiting professor at a local university, agreed.

"It's always good to be bilingual," he told his son, "And it's a good way to keep up your German."

Brian was sure he or his sister would never lose their ability to speak German. After all, they had been living in Germany and used it both here, and when home visiting his grandparents in New York City. There was one thing; however, that he liked about the public school… Girls.

_**Germany, late 1932** _

Brian Olsen, now almost sixteen, his parents, Joseph and Krista, and his younger sister, Sara, were still living a fairly comfortable life as American expatriates in Düsseldorf. His mother had relatives scattered around the country, and the families frequently enjoyed each other's company. Brian, in particular, loved the countryside and looked forward to trips out of the city. With his newfound maturity, he was allowed to venture away from home on his own, sometimes joining cousins or friends on hiking trips, day trips to look at castles on the Rhine, to swim in lakes or go skiing. Although he loved his grandparents, he found the noisy and crowded island of Manhattan confining, and looked forward to returning home to Germany every August, ready to start his new school term.

The political changes occurring in Germany were the furthest thing from his mind at that point. He had his future to consider. Would he attend a university in Germany or in the states? Would he get up the nerve to ask his neighbor, Anna, out to the cinema and would she agree?

"Brian, wake up. Your head is in the clouds." His mother chided him fondly.

"Sorry, Mother. I got distracted. What were you saying?"

"Your father and I want you to stay close to home for a while. These men, the brown shirts; you never know when they'll attack." The family had not yet witnessed the violence, but had heard stories of increasing brutality and tension.

"But, Mother…"

"No arguments." His father came into the room. "Their numbers have grown." Seeing his son's disappointment, he added. "I'm sure it will blow over. Hitler won't last long. But until then, we have to be careful, son."

Brian's parents were shocked when the bombastic Austrian corporal was appointed Chancellor in the beginning of the new year. Most of their German friends were surprised as well, but could understand their peoples' frustration with the economy and their treatment after the war.

In February 1933, the atmosphere in the country hit a crisis level, when the fire at the Reichstag persuaded President Hindenburg to grant Hitler emergency powers. Civil rights in the country began to disappear. More progressive Germans, some intellectuals, and some members of the foreign community suspected that the Nazi party deliberately set the fire, but fear kept the conversation and speculation inside. When Hitler took full control on March 5, after the Nazis received 44 percent of the popular vote, Brian's parents finally took notice and discussed their options. No one in the family wanted to leave their home. Brian was almost finished with his schooling and both he and Sara had friends. Joseph, as well, enjoyed his position, his colleagues and his students. Hoping the political upheaval would blow over and that the German public would eventually come to their senses, the Olsen's decided to stay put.

Within weeks, riots instigated by storm troopers against German Jews frightened the family. Joseph Olsen began to argue with his wife, trying to persuade her to book passage back to the states for herself and the children. Brian and Sara could hear and feel the tension in the house. Finally Brian found the nerve one evening to confront his father.

"I want to finish my term," he argued. "I only have another year. Please," he begged.

"I'm concerned about your safety. Yours, your mother's and sister's."

"Send Mother and Sara home then. Let me stay with you."

Joseph took a sip of his tea and looked down at his hands. "Son, your mother is refusing to leave just yet. I want her to, but I can't force her. She's concerned about her family here, and she doesn't want anything like this to separate us." And so the Olsen family waited.

It was in April that things became worse. Hitler by now had become a dictator, and more actions were taken against German Jews. For the first time, the Olsen family became directly affected by the changes. Sara came home from school one day that month in tears. It appeared her music teacher had been fired. At the same time, Joseph lost many of his students and colleagues at the university. Brian's 16th birthday was a muted affair. In attendance was his new girlfriend, Anna, several cousins, and other friends. Jewish friends, although invited, did not attend, since they did not want to cause any trouble.

When book burnings occurred in May, Joseph had seen enough. He then insisted that Sara and Krista be sent home, and this time they complied. For the first time in Brian's life, he was separated from part of his family; something he, nor his sister, would ever forget.

Brian was no longer allowed to go out alone for his picnics with friends. The cinema was filled with propaganda, and storm troopers roamed the streets. Family businesses and shops owned by Jews had closed in the summer and some of Joseph's colleagues, both Jew and gentile, had disappeared. Just over a year later, after Brian finished his last term of high school, Joseph and his son threw in the towel and returned home. Joseph Olsen and Brian were reunited with their family and moved in with Krista's parents in Manhattan. Without a job, Joseph had no choice. The country was still in the throes of the Great Depression, and teaching positions were hard to find. Brian, who had goals of attending college to study engineering, now found himself taking odd jobs to help support his family, while attending classes part time as he could afford them.

Eventually, Brian adapted to his new life and, although he missed Germany and the beautiful countryside, he regained his sunny and cheerful disposition. His father finally found a teaching position and the family settled down. They refused to watch newsreels of the summer Olympics, but were secretly thrilled by Jesse Owens' success.

The two children now found themselves living in the entirely different and multicultural world that was New York City. The family still kept a close watch on news out of Europe and their worst nightmares seemed to be coming true. By then, 1938, Germany had annexed Austria, Kristallnacht had occurred and the Munich agreement was signed. Brian, who was now twenty-one, was beginning to think of a career change. He and his close-knit group of college friends were foreseeing war on the horizon

"Hitler is not going to stop until he conquers Europe," Brian argued.

"He's got what he wants," argued another. "And why would he want to do that, anyway?"

"He's written what he wants," Brian offered. "It's in his book." Brian and his father had read it in Germany and were horrified. Brian's friends were all willing to listen to his side; after all, he'd lived there. "He's crazy," Brian continued. "He wants Europe. He blames the Jews for everything, Communists too. He's dangerous." They all mulled that over.

"Whatever happens, the U.S. will stay out of it," another friend surmised. That was something they could all agree upon.

It was no surprise to the Olsen family and others in their social network, when war was declared in September of 1939. Correspondence with their relatives overseas had become less frequent and information in the letters was obviously carefully chosen. Brian's parents were relieved when the two sides conducted a phony war, but their relief turned to horror as Germany began to march across Europe in 1940, and with that, Brian Olsen made a fateful decision.

"It's called the Eagle Squadron." His family stared at him across the kitchen table as he explained why he quit his first real job as a junior engineer to fight with Great Britain as a volunteer with the RAF. "We're sitting here, doing nothing, while England is the only country left. What happens if they're invaded? Who's next?"

Stunned, his father and mother argued vehemently with their son. His mother, crying, left the room and his sister followed. Joseph was angry. "You're fighting for another country, not America! And we have relatives over there."

"Don't you think I've thought about that?" Brian retorted. "But, Dad, I feel like I've got to do something. You were there. We've seen what these people are like. Don't you think our family over there would want someone to help get rid of the Nazis? Don't you think they want their country back?"

Joseph had no answer.

"Dad, I know this is the right thing to do. Besides, I'm bound to be drafted here and, eventually, we'll be in it. I just feel it."

"I can't stop you." Joseph realized his son would do what he wanted, no matter how much he or his wife protested. Brian's family was not happy with their son's decision, but they came to terms with it, and sadly saw him off.

 

_A/N: The Eagle Squadrons were made up of American men who offered to fly for the RAF. The RAF forces were depleted during the Battle of Britain, and these men were trained in England to fly Hurricanes and Spitfires. Approximately 250 men were selected. Others joined the Volunteer reserve. Almost 1000 American men were killed while serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force and the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. Eventually, the Eagle Squadron was incorporated into the USAAF's 4th Fighter Group. (various sources)_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3** _

Brian boarded a ship that zigzagged all the way to England. Upon arriving, he began to train as a pilot, but unfortunately found himself removed from the program when British doctors discovered a slight problem with his eyesight. He was disappointed, but grateful that the British found him another position. He was eventually posted at a base on the southeastern coast and assigned to a bomber crew as a gunner. He and his crew were lucky until one fateful day in early 1942, when his plane was shot down over Germany.

Although Olsen was miraculously uninjured, the shock of bailing out had left him in a daze. He frantically looked around to see if he could spot the rest of his crew members. Several of the parachutes were visible and he tried to focus on where they were falling. The rough landing startled him, but his training kicked in, and he managed to unhook his parachute and gather up the material. He mechanically went through the motions,burying the chute and taking stock of his position. Thinking that he had seen other parachutes floating down to the ground towards the west, he slowly made his way in that direction. However, within minutes, he heard noises and voices calling out in German. Frightened, Olsen threw himself to the ground and tried to make himself invisible. Unfortunately, this didn't work, and within minutes he found himself surrounded by a German patrol. They motioned for him to stand up and, in broken English, ordered him to raise his hands above his head while they patted him down. They removed his knife and pistol and then roughly pulled his hands behind his back and tied them tightly with a rope. One soldier pushed the end of his rifle into Olsen's back and ordered him to move. Within minutes they had come across another patrol. With that patrol were about ten other prisoners, including several of Olsen's crew-members. He did not know the other men.

The Allied fliers tried to talk amongst themselves. Questions of where they were being taken and warnings not to divulge any information circulated amongst the ranks until the Germans ordered them to be quiet. After trudging along for about ½ mile, the officers were separated from the rest, and that was the last time Olsen saw his navigator and copilot. He assumed that the rest of the crew was dead. Their group had now been combined with another group of enlisted prisoners. They were ordered to sit down in the snow while their captors waited for transportation. A small patrol of SS officers had rendezvoused with the German army group and began to discuss arrangements. The highest ranking officer in the army patrol was arguing with the highest ranking SS officer. Olsen strained to hear the conversation, but he could not make out the subject. Tension mounted amongst the prisoners as the SS officer walked over to their group and ordered them to stand up. This was not an easy feat, due to the snow, and the fact that their hands were bound behind them. The German soldiers, inpatient with their slowness, grabbed them and roughly pulled them up.

A gunner from Olsen's plane who was standing next to him, whispered. "What are they saying?"

"I think they were arguing. They're waiting for a truck, but the SS guy, I think, wants to interrogate us or something." He quickly stopped talking as the Germans approached.

The SS man walked back and forth and began eyeing the prisoners, who were now becoming increasingly nervous. He motioned for his subordinate to pull several men out of the ranks. He checked their tags and pushed them back into line. Again, he did the same. This time however, the officer kept one man out. He stared intently at the soldier, walking around the prisoner until it appeared that the prisoner would buckle under the pressure. The officer in charge of the patrol that captured the fliers came over and began again to argue with the SS officer. They stepped aside, and Olsen again strained to make out parts of the conversation. Words such as Juden and hund hit his ears and he began to turn pale. The other soldiers, who also heard some of the words, began to get agitated and concerned on behalf of the soldier that had been singled out. At that moment, the truck arrived and the conversation stopped. The army officer ordered his soldiers to load the prisoners onto the truck. It took only a few minutes of yelling and pushing to accomplish this task, and shortly thereafter the dozen prisoners found themselves seated uncomfortably on benches in an open air flatbed. The prisoner that had been singled out by the SS officer was not put on the truck. Struck mute by fear, the soldier began to shake. The other prisoners began to argue with their captors. Their futile pleas of, "He's one of us!" went unanswered. Again, in broken English, the Germans ordered the captured fliers to shut up.

Finally, in frustration and without thinking, Olsen began yelling in German, "He's an American! He's with us! You can't leave without him! Please! Why isn't he coming with us?" His outburst quieted both the other prisoners and the soldiers guarding him.

The SS officer quickly hopped onto the flatbed and struck Olsen across the face. "You're American. He's nothing to you. He's a dog. Be quiet, or I'll consider you Juden as well." He pulled Olsen up to a standing position and tilted his head back. "So, you speak German? Did you learn it in school? Do you have a German family? Well? I think so. Your accent is not an accent of one who has picked up our language later in life. You should have fought with us while you had the chance. Never mind. You are a traitor. You may think you're an American, but they'll never see it that way. You have no country." He glared at Olsen with intense hatred and Olsen, in turn, despite his pain, reciprocated. The SS officer jumped off the truck, calmly walked over to the lone American prisoner standing frightened in the snow, and without warning, fired a shot into the man's head.

The prisoners on the truck went into shock. Olsen, who had still been standing, collapsed. He was picked up by one of the German soldiers guarding the prisoners and placed back on the bench. The truck rolled away and headed off to the next stop, the processing center. Several hours went by and the prisoners began to see evidence of what their bombing raids had brought to the countryside, towns and cities. The truck had to detour around bombed out roads, bridges, and buildings. Occasionally, dead animals could be seen by the side of the road. The prisoners took this all in. To Olsen, the beautiful countryside he had enjoyed while living in Germany now appeared to be part of a nightmare that was just beginning. His rage upon seeing the results of the Blitz still simmered inside of him, but witnessing the carnage he and his fellow airmen had inflicted filled him with a feeling he could not describe. He never thought about the damage while being out on the bombing raids. None of them did. It was too far away. They could not feel the heat, hear the screams, or smell the dead bodies of humans and animals caught in the maelstrom. The trembling of the earth as bombs exploded was miles below. His only thought, and the thought of the rest of his crew was to drop their load and get home alive. Now, he wondered if he or any of his friends had perhaps killed any of his German friends or relatives. He could no longer look, and stared at the floor of the flatbed.

Still numb from witnessing the murder of their fellow soldier, the prisoners did not speak to each other, or look at each other, but just stared blankly ahead or tried to nod off. It was about two hours into the ride that the truck convoy passed through a small town. Without warning, and egged on by other people, civilians, which included women and young children, began to scream and yell at the prisoners on the truck. Insults and names, such as Luftgangster, were thrown out indiscriminately by everyone. The prisoners had no choice but to sit back quietly and take the verbal abuse. Suddenly, the verbal abuse turned physical as the civilians picked up stones and rocks and began hurling them at the prisoners. The truck was forced to come to a stop and the German soldiers jumped off and halfheartedly tried to control the crowd. The prisoners, who could not defend themselves, as their hands were still bound, were being pummeled. All they could do was try to turn their faces away from the onslaught. By the time the violence was squelched, the majority of them were bloodied. Several of them were crying and moaning in pain.

These were the kind of people Olsen had grown up with, gone to school with, and associated with. He and his family had enjoyed the company of people like these. He and his sister had attended school with their children. His father had worked with their fathers. His mother had enjoyed coffee and pastries with their mothers. She had patronized their shops and graciously helped them learn English. Now, these people saw Olsen and his fellow soldiers as nothing more than animals to be despised. They had given birth to the kind of man who would shoot an unarmed American soldier, solely because his dog tags showed an H for his religion. Olsen now began to retreat inside himself. His mind remained blank for the rest of the trip.

The truck finally arrived at the processing center and the prisoners were quickly herded off the back. Paying no attention to their injuries, the soldiers sent them off into a human assembly line. They were strip-searched and placed into individual cells and left to wait for their interrogation. Olsen, who was nursing various cuts and bruises on his face and torso that he had received from the civilian attack, was pulled out of the cell several hours later and brought into a small dimly lit room. There was a chair and a light hanging from the ceiling.

The interrogator sat behind a desk. In front of him was a blank information card. The interrogator proceeded to ask Olsen to divulge the answers to the questions on the card, but all he received, as he expected, was the sergeant's name, rank and serial number.

"I understand you speak German like a native," he said in German. Olsen did not respond. "I recommend an answer to my questions or there will be severe consequences. I know you understand me. Tell me, where did you learn German?"

Olsen attempted to wipe some blood off of his face and then stared blankly ahead. The interrogator stood up and walked over to Olsen's chair. "I'm with the Luftwaffe," he said. "We're not the SS or the Gestapo. Tell me," he now switched to English. "What was the name and location of your unit?"

"Olsen, Brien, Sergeant, 12829410 ."

The interrogator could barely hear the information as Olsen was speaking in a whisper. "Tell me, Sergeant Olsen. Is it your mother or your father that is a native?"

Olsen continued to stare blankly ahead.

"I suspect you still may have family in the country," the interrogator stated. "Perhaps we can help you contact them. I'm sure we can locate them for you." Olsen stared down at the floor.

The interrogator was patient and continued to ply the sergeant with questions. Finally, he tired of the exercise, and ordered the guards to bring Olsen back to his small cell, which contained a cot, a table, a chair and an electric bell to call the guard. Olsen spent a sleepless night in the dark, overheated room. He was brought no food or water. During the night, he thought he could hear the sobs and cries of other prisoners.

The next morning, he was given some rations, which consisted of fake coffee, and two pieces of black bread and jam. He was then taken in to see a different interrogator. Again, the same questions went unanswered. However, this interrogator was more threatening. He never laid a hand on the sergeant, but he continued to pester Olsen about his background and possible connections in Germany. Olsen was aware that the country had kept meticulous records and he was fearful that somehow the Nazis would figure out where he and his family had once lived and where his father had worked. This could only lead to their discovery of his relatives and friends. Or at least, that's what the sergeant thought. He then even considered that they might be able to track down his family in the states. Actually, he knew that they could, once the Red Cross alerted the army that he was a prisoner. Still suffering from hunger, fear and shock, the young sergeant retreated even further into a shell. The interrogator, seeing the effect his methods was having on the American, decided to take advantage and attempted to gather more information from the prisoner. Olsen would not cooperate and he was again taken back to his cell and left alone for another day and night. The next morning, weakening from hunger and thirst, and an infection developing in one of his cuts, he faced yet another interrogation.

Word of Olsen's outburst on the truck had made its way up to the higher level officers at the Dulag Luft. Interested in Olsen's background, they thought perhaps that they could use it to their benefit. They decided to keep Olsen there for a few extra days to see if they could get him to divulge any information. While the rest of the prisoners who were captured with him were sent on to the transit camp, Olsen remained. He was questioned three or four times a day for over a week. Threats were being made against his family in the states and in Germany. The Germans also brought up the casualties caused by Allied bombing raids, hoping to convince Olsen that he had perhaps been responsible for killing his own relatives. By the end of the week, he had no idea if the Germans knew where his relatives were, nor did he know if they had the means of harassing or harming family members back home and in Germany. The constant psychological pressure and the threats of physical retribution continued to sap his mental and physical strength.

Although the sergeant never caved in, and did not give up any pertinent information, by the end of his two weeks at the interrogation center at Oberursal, he was a wreck. The memories of what had happened in the snow by the truck and the attack by the civilians consumed him, and the fear that some of his family members or friends might be harmed because he would not divulge any information filled him with guilt and dread. The interrogators continued to badger him, calling him a murderer of children, a traitor to Germany, or a traitor to America, until Olsen no longer heard or responded. After almost two weeks of psychological torture and physical deprivations, the interrogators tired of their abuse, and sent him to the transit camp.

Conditions at the transit camp were somewhat more humane. Olsen found himself no longer housed in solitary confinement, but sharing quarters with other prisoners awaiting permanent assignment to a Stalag. The men tried to care for those who had experienced a rough handling at the Oberursal as best as they could. Rations were more plentiful, but Olsen now had little interest in eating. By the time he was on his way to a permanent camp, he still had not regained the weight he had lost and he was a shell of his former self. The self-confident, gregarious young man who had volunteered to help the RAF, could now barely walk and rarely spoke. It was that man who now found himself heading towards one of the toughest prison camps in Germany; Luft Stalag 13.

* * *

 

_A/N: Olsen was sent to Dulag Luft, which was composed of three different sections. Oberursal was the interrogation center. There was also a hospital (Hohemark) and a transit center. The transit center located at Wetzlar opened in 1944 after bombings destroyed the other locations. Oberursal was located near Frankfort am Main. During the early days of the war, conditions (as seen in this story) at the interrogation center were much worse. Interrogators threatened the POWs, called them "murderers of children," pretended to kill their buddies, and resorted to other psychological pressures. Later on, a "friendlier" approach was used. Interrogation sessions and stays at the center were shorter for those who would have little information, such as gunners. Pilots and others were kept longer. The length of Olsen's stay may have been exaggerated. Several officers at the Dulag Luft were brought up on war crimes trials for abuse of British prisoners. Stays at the transit center usually lasted about a week. Before being sent to their camp, prisoners at the transit center were issued a Red Cross satchel that held basic supplies, including toiletries, a bible, a deck of cards, etc. (Various internet sources)_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There were now ten men living in Barracks two, but not all were the original inhabitants. Colonel Hogan somehow managed to get certain prisoners transferred in, while others were transferred out. These prisoners and their unique talents had gained Hogan's attention. The camp, which had originally been organized by nationalities, quickly became diverse. So when Hogan returned and told the men that the newest prisoner was to be housed in their hut, they were a bit surprised.

"Do you think he's a plant, Colonel?" That was Kinchloe's first thought. So far, it appeared that the stalag had escaped the interest of the Gestapo, but it was bound to happen.

"We'll have to give him the usual once over, but no, I'm sure he's not a plant. Let me know when Schultz brings him in." Hogan went into his office and shut the door.

Schultz was occupied shuttling the new prisoner to various mandatory stops around the camp before he would finally be allowed to settle in at his new quarters. His first stop after leaving the Kommandant was the delousing station. Olsen had meekly followed the sergeant out of the office, but hesitated at the top of the stairs. Schultz patiently asked him to follow. "Come," he said, and pointed. "That will be your barracks. Colonel Hogan lives there," Schultz explained. "He's been here just a while." Schultz lowered his voice as they began to walk. "The men seem to like him." The sergeant then pointed out the mess hall and the recreation hall. Thinking his chatter was helping to put the man at ease, he continued to talk, warning Olsen about the fences and the towers.

The sergeant appeared to be paying attention, but had not said a word throughout his tour. They went from the delousing station, to the quartermaster, and then headed back to the barracks. Olsen hesitated outside the dog pen.

"You need to stay far away from here, Olsen," Schultz warned. "These dogs are trained trackers. Nasty." He added.

Olsen stole a quick glance at the shepherds and managed to notice a small twitch in a female's tail. He let out a slight smile and followed.

"Here we are." Schultz opened the door.

"Thanks." It was the first word Olsen had spoken since leaving Klink's office. The men in the barracks all scrambled to their feet when the door opened. Olsen slowly stepped in.

Newkirk approached the sergeant while Kinchloe knocked on Hogan's door.

"'Ere, let me 'elp you, mate." The corporal guided the sergeant in and showed him to an empty bunk. Another prisoner grabbed a footlocker and shoved it over.

"You can put your things in 'ere." The corporal introduced himself. "I'm Newkirk."

"Olsen."

"Where you from Olsen?" The men started to crowd around the new arrival and began to pepper him with questions, not an unusual circumstance. All new prisoners were badgered for war news, and information about their home country.

"Give him some room." Hogan had left his office and headed for the table. "Sit. Coffee?"

"No thank you, Sir."

Hogan grabbed a mug for himself and sat down. He regretted his next step, considering the sergeant's condition, but it was absolutely necessary. Stalag 13 was small and the likelihood of someone knowing the new prisoner, so they could vouch for them, was next to nil. They had to vet and question each prisoner separately. "Okay, Sergeant, what outfit were you in?"

Hogan spent about 15 minutes interrogating the new prisoner. The sergeant answered all of Hogan's questions quietly and in a monotone. He easily passed the interview with flying colors, but showed little emotion and frequently looked down at his hands, which occasionally trembled. Meanwhile, the other residents of the barracks were working on scrounging up some supplies for their new roommate. Hogan was a bit surprised that almost three weeks had passed since Olsen was shot down, but he did not react to the information. "It will be a while until you get your first Red Cross package." Hogan was explaining the system. "But we've managed to set up our own supply depot throughout the camp. Otherwise we'd be living in the clothes we were wearing when we came in."

"Olsen. You hungry?" LeBeau tried to get some interest out of the sergeant. "Here's some eggs. Look, they're fresh." He placed the plate on the table.

"Where did you get fresh eggs?" Olsen whispered.

Hogan was relieved to hear a sentence. "LeBeau is a chef. Let's just say we have a nice arrangement with the barracks guard, Schultz. That's who brought you in." Olsen nodded and tentatively stabbed some eggs with his fork.

Hogan had to attend a meeting with some other prisoners; engineers who were working on designing the tunnel expansion. Before leaving the barracks, he left instructions for Newkirk to keep an eye on Olsen and to try and get him to talk.

Olsen finished the eggs, pleasing LeBeau, who was grateful to see a clean plate. He grinned and again offered the sergeant something to drink, which he declined.

"'Ere, Olsen," Newkirk said in a cheerful voice. "We put some things in your footlocker." He pointed to a lower bunk.

Olsen stood up and slowly walked over. He gazed inside the locker. The men had managed to scrounge up writing paper and a few other items, including articles of clothing. This, added to the supplies he had brought with him from the transit camp, would give him a good start. "Thanks," he said as he sat down on the lower bunk that had been assigned to him.

Kinchloe walked over and quietly asked Olsen where he came from. Sergeant Kinchloe was a tall colored man with a calm but authoritative demeanor. He had arrived in camp several weeks earlier and he quickly attracted Hogan's attention. A worker for the phone company, the sergeant had extremely useful skills and had been recently transferred into Barracks two. He was currently working on building a radio system, and a bug that could be placed in the Kommandant's office. He and Hogan had hit it off immediately and he was quickly becoming the colonel's right hand man.

Olsen looked up at the sergeant and quickly answered, "New York City, sir, most recently. But I've lived in different places," he added.

Encouraged that he had managed to get Olsen to speak a few words, Kinch, as he liked to be called, nonchalantly leaned against the bunk frame. "I'm from Detroit. Ever been there?"

Olsen shook his head.

Another man came over and introduced himself as Goldman. "I'm from New York. Queens."

"Manhattan," Olsen replied. "But I was only there for the last few years." He then suddenly clammed up, threw himself onto the bunk and lay down.

Kinch noticed Olsen's eyes were starting to tear up and motioned for everyone to move away. He left the barracks and caught Colonel Hogan on his way back.

"We got Olsen to talk a bit. But then he clammed up."

"What did he say?" Hogan blew on his hands to warm them up.

"Found out he's from New York, recently. Said he's been in a lot of places."

"Interesting. He was shot down almost three weeks ago and in the interrogation center for almost two," Hogan explained.

Kinch was surprised. "He's just a gunner, isn't he?"

Hogan nodded. "That's not good. There's a good reason they kept him in there that long, but it may take a while to get it out of him. Kinch, something happened to him."

"I'd bet on it, sir." Kinch followed Hogan as he opened the door and walked into the barracks. Olsen was now sleeping on his bunk.

Hogan motioned for the men in the barracks to come into his office and brought them up to date on the meeting he had with the engineers. "We should break through the doghouse by the end of the week."

"That's brilliant, Colonel. The Boche will never look there. The guards are terrified of the dogs." LeBeau had been put in charge of training the dogs to listen to the prisoners.

Their handler, the local town veterinarian, Oscar Schnitzer, also worked with them back at his farm. They were being trained to be hostile to men in German uniforms. He also was smuggling in radio parts, weapons and other supplies. Once Hogan had quickly discovered that Klink was not too bright, that Schultz was willing to ignore anything for a price, and that the camp had design flaws, it was all a matter of time before a mass escape could be organized. The prisoners who had already been in the camp when Hogan arrived had started the tunnels and made contact with the sympathetic veterinarian.

"I should have this radio working by then, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Where's the antenna?" someone asked.

"Already been taken care of," Hogan explained. "I had a man install it on the flag." He smiled. "Poetic justice."

The men laughed.

Olsen was beginning to make noises in his sleep, and that attracted the attention of everyone in the office. Nightmares were a common occurrence in the camp. Everyone had them, but Hogan was concerned and went out to check on the sergeant, who was now sweating and mumbling in his sleep. Hogan hesitated, stood back and then listened as Olsen rolled, clutched at the blanket, and then cried out.

"No, please, stop… Stop!"

Hogan and Kinch looked at each other. Then the Colonel sat on the edge of the bunk and gently shook the sergeant. "Olsen. Olsen. Wake up."

Olsen opened his eyes and saw his new commanding officer looking down at him.

"You're having a bad dream," Hogan explained. "It's all right, Sergeant. It happens to all of us. Settle down."

"Thank you, Sir," Olsen mumbled. His eyes took on a glazed look.

Hogan hesitated and then decided not to push too soon. In his experience, sometimes that backfired. He left Olsen on the bunk and then returned to his office, motioning for the rest of the men to follow.

"Newkirk? I need you to sneak into Klink's office tonight, and bring me Olsen's file."

"No problem."

Hogan then un-scrolled a map he had hidden that showed the progress of the tunnel excavations. "How is the fence coming?" He asked.

"Should be done shortly, sir," Kinch reported.

In order to get out of camp quickly to scout locations for tunnel entrances outside of the camp, Hogan and his men decided to work on a section of the fence that was a blind spot. In short intervals, they had been refitting the section so that it rolled up just enough to let a man underneath. The guards never noticed.

"We can start storing the supplies," Hogan decided, "As soon as the entrance in the pen is ready. LeBeau, you'll notify Schnitzer."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter five** _

The rest of the day passed quietly. Prisoners went about their business. Klink tackled his paperwork, and Olsen remained passive and quiet. He meekly followed Schultz to the infirmary for a required check and then returned to his bunk. He remained there until dinner. When LeBeau, who had whipped up something a little more edible with some potatoes and Red Cross rations, offered the sergeant a plate, to his surprise, Olsen declined. LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a glance.

"Olsen," Newkirk said. "'Ere, listen. You need to regain your strength. They almost starve you in the Dulag."

Olsen's face clouded.

"Come on." Newkirk urged him.

The sergeant reluctantly grabbed his fork, tentatively ate a few bites and then put the plate down. He drank a bit of water, and put the cup down as well.

Hogan, who had come out of his office to join the men for dinner, refused a plate. "Save it," he told LeBeau. "I'm heading over to the infirmary," he said quietly.

**********

"Nothing obvious, physically, Colonel," the medic reported. "Underweight. He did have some scars on his arms, hands and torso. One looked like it had been infected, but it's healed."

"Beatings?" Hogan asked.

"No, sir. Looks like rocks, pebbles, maybe. I'm not sure. He wouldn't talk. I'm more concerned about his mental state."

"Me, too. Wilson. That's why I'm here. Did he tell you how long he was at the Dulag?"

"No."

"Almost three weeks," Hogan told him.

"Whoa."

"Any advice, Wilson?"

"Don't push, but make sure he knows you're all there for him. He may come around soon. Try to keep him busy. I'd appreciate if you would keep me posted and definitely let me know if he gets worse."

"Will do. I'm getting a look at his file, tonight."

********

Newkirk slipped into Klink's outer office after lights out and retrieved Olsen's file from the cabinet. He quickly returned to the barracks, entered quietly, so as not to awaken the sleeping men, entered Hogan's office and handed it over.

"Any problems?" Hogan asked.

"None," Newkirk replied. He was waiting for the day when Hogan ordered him to crack open Klink's safe. He had already done it several times, as a lark, but found nothing of any use. But now that they almost had a radio connection, who knows what information they could pass along. Maybe when they escaped, they could take the contents with them. Newkirk mulled over the enticing possibilities while Hogan quickly scanned Olsen's file. He closed the folder and handed it back to the corporal.

"All done, Sir?" Newkirk did not ask Hogan what he had found. That was the officer's business.

"You can take it back. Thanks."

The file, as Klink had intimated, held nothing useful, other than a confirmation of an extended stay at the interrogation center. A mention of Olsen's volunteer service in the RAF was noted, as well as attempts to question the soldier's allegiance to the United States; not an abnormal tactic as far as Hogan was concerned. But pilots were normally kept for longer periods, not enlisted men, and that was the key. Something about the sergeant had garnered extra interest and it was that special attention, Hogan surmised, that had possibly shaken Olsen's emotional core.

Olsen slept straight through that night; a good sign, Hogan hoped. The only information Hogan could offer his new staff was what he already knew. The gunner had been held longer than the normal amount of time at the Dulag, and that was it. Although they were curious, they were told to back off, not to press, but to be available.

His barracks mates kept up a running commentary all the next morning, explaining the routine, sheparding him through roll call and again attempting to get the sergeant to eat more than a few bites. He showed little reaction at the good-natured bantering between the men and Schultz that morning, but occasionally glanced over at Kinch while he was puttering with the obviously forbidden radio parts.

It was later in the day that a flicker of interest and recognition passed through Olsen's eyes. Klink had sent for Hogan after lunch to request a work detail to go outside the fence to remove tree limbs. Hogan had recruited a group of volunteers from his barracks, telling them to map out in their heads anything and everything they saw. A quick mention by Hogan of Hammelburg got Olsen's attention. He followed the crew out of the barracks and watched them leave through the gates and then settled himself on a bench outside. Kinch found him sitting there and attempted to engage the sergeant in conversation.

"Nice day," Kinch said. It was cold but brilliantly sunny. Many of the prisoners were taking advantage of the good weather and were milling around in the compound. Kinch retrieved a bar of chocolate from his pocket and offered some to Olsen, who declined. "So, Olsen. What did you do before the war?"

"I was an engineer," Olsen answered politely.

"Uh huh. Any specific kind?" Kinch pressed.

"Mechanical." Olsen sighed. "Just started my first job." He looked at Kinch. "You?"

"Phone company. In Detroit," he answered.

"Makes sense," Olsen replied. "You working on the, you know?"

"Yup." Kinch stretched out his legs and leaned back. He waited for Olsen to make the next move, but the new prisoner seemed to lose interest in his surroundings and his eyes again became haunted. Kinch stood up. "I'm going back in. My break is over." He opened the door and was not surprised to see Olsen follow.

A raucous group of prisoners returned later that afternoon from the work detail. Hogan was in a good mood. Under the guise of supervising his men, he managed to map out several roads, landmarks, and possible locations for a tunnel exit. Several of his men took note of distant water towers, an electrical substation and telephone poles.

Olsen sat back on his bunk and quietly observed the revelry. Hogan and Newkirk retreated into the colonel's office to get the information down on paper, while LeBeau and some others headed off to the mess hall to scrounge up supplies for supper. Kinch knocked on Hogan's door.

"Come in."

"Sounds like today's work detail was fruitful, sir."

"Not bad. Look." Hogan pointed out the additional details Newkirk had added onto the map. "We have a few potential hiding places." Hogan showed Kinch the markings. "Schnitzer has vouched for these spots. Anything new around here?"

"I made good progress on the radio. Found out Olsen is an engineer, mechanical."

"Really? That's useful. So he talked," Hogan commented.

"A few sentences, but then he stopped talking again. Got that haunted look." Kinch shook his head. "He's not eating enough. You know, I offered him a piece of chocolate and he didn't take it."

"Let's see how he does tonight." Hogan said. "If he doesn't improve, I'll have to have a talk with him."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

The prisoners ate in the barracks that evening, dining on something tasty LeBeau had made out of cabbage, potatoes and a bit of meat. Hogan joined them and kept an eye on Olsen, who ate only half of his portion. It was only the new prisoner's second night and he had not yet been assigned any chores. Obviously unsure of what to do next, he retreated to his bunk and watched while the men went about their evening routine. By 7:30, the men were splitting off into groups. A card game formed around the table, while others read, or wrote letters. Newkirk, who to Olsen, seemed to be the barrack's morale booster, invited him to join in, but he declined. The Englishman and Hogan exchanged a glance and then Newkirk dealt out the cards.

Hogan walked over to Olsen's bunk. "How you making out, Sergeant?" he asked casually.

"Fine, sir." Olsen was obviously nervous.

Hogan was in a unique situation. Being the only allied officer in camp, he had been forced to play mother hen to a lot of young and frightened men over the past few months. Make the only officer a colonel, and the disconnection was even wider. But this was his new role, and like anything else Hogan had ever tackled in life, he tackled it full throttle. Attempting to make Olsen more comfortable, Hogan asked about his engineering experience.

"I was on my first job." Olsen replied. "An aircraft plant out on Long Island. I did some drafting, that kind of stuff. A little design. Tooling, machines, nothing special," he added.

"I wouldn't say that." Hogan didn't want to get too personal inside the barracks. Olsen had eaten more at dinner than at lunch, so he decided to back off for now. As to what had happened at Oberusal, his gut told him it would come out eventually. Thinking the sergeant would be more comfortable talking with an enlisted man; he approached Kinch and asked him to continue to draw him out.

Olsen was still suffering from sleep deprivation when he had arrived, so he had slept well the previous night. He was banking on tonight being the same.

The downed fliers were forced to walk past numerous bombed out buildings, "To see the carnage they had wrought," the German soldiers guarding them said. They climbed over piles and piles of rubble, taking care not to step on people's belongings, and what appeared to be body parts lyingin the debris.

Survivors stared at them as they passed. "Why?" They asked.

"We were aiming for the factories," one of the fliers answered, "Not at civilians."

"You deliberately bombed our cities," accused a British pilot. "You killed our women and children."

The gruesome trek continued. The group turned a corner, and Olsen faced his worst nightmare.

"No!" he shouted, as he ran into the rubble and began to dig with his hands. "Help me!" He looked around at the other men, who just stood and watched. "No, oh, God, no!" He got down on his hands and knees and continued to dig.

"Who is it, Sergeant?" An American pilot asked.

Olsen looked up and saw his entire crew looking down upon him. "My aunt, my cousins..."

"Olsen, Olsen!" This time it was Kinch attempting to awaken the sergeant, who was again thrashing and crying out in his sleep.

The dejected sergeant now again refused to eat. Embarrassed, he retreated to his bunk and remained there most of the morning.

"Sergeant Olsen," Hogan called out firmly.

Startled, Olsen scrambled to his feet.

"You're part of the team now. Go see Corporal Newkirk. He's in charge of designating the work details for this barracks."

"Yes, sir." Olsen started to move outside, where he had last seen the British corporal.

"Hold on." Hogan stopped him. The barracks was empty, so Hogan felt comfortable bringing up the subject. "You're not eating enough. I know the food is not the best, no matter what Corporal LeBeau does to it. Don't give the Germans another victory. Start eating or you'll end up in the infirmary. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Hogan smiled. "Good. Dismissed."

Olsen did as he was told and sought out Newkirk, who put the sergeant on laundry detail. It gave the sergeant a chance to get some air and work with other prisoners. Although Olsen didn't feel up to it, he ate his entire lunch. Being kept busy perked up the sergeant a bit and got his mind off of his ordeal. Newkirk then sent Olsen off on errands with another prisoner, so he could explore the camp. Passing the dog pen, the sergeant paused and again smiled as the friendly shepherds wagged their tails at the sight of the Americans.

"They look cute," Goldman said. "But they can get pretty scary if Klink sends them out with the guards."

"I thought they were supposed to be friendly to the prisoners?" Olsen asked.

"Well, they have to show off or they'll fire the vet." The two finished their errands and returned to the barracks.

"Goldman showed you the ropes?" Kinch looked up from the radio as the two came in. Hogan was off on one of his seemingly endless tasks.

"Olsen likes the dogs." Goldman chuckled.

"That's good. Once we get the tunnel entrance finished, you'll need to gain their trust."

Kinch twisted a wire and deftly attached it to something; what, Olsen could not make out. He became fascinated by the sergeant's delicate work. Kinch's hands were big, yet he appeared to have no problem handling the tiny bits of equipment. Kinch noticed Olsen's interest.

"This puppy just may be done by the time Colonel Hogan gets back," he said proudly.

"Never guess he was a boxer," Goldman said to Olsen.

"You're kidding." Olsen walked over to the table.

Kinch chuckled. "He's not kidding. But… That's a whole other lifetime. What about you, any sports?"

"Nothing competitive," Olsen replied. "Just a lot of outdoor stuff, you know. Skiing, rowing, skating." His voice grew quiet and he again stopped talking.

Kinch, seeing this, decided to back off for the moment. He returned to the radio. "Once this is operational, we'll have contact with the Underground. That way, when we bust out of here, we'll have someplace to go and people to help us."

"I thought this was supposed to be the toughest camp in Germany," Olsen remembered hearing that when he left the transit center.

"Well," Kinch laughed. "They won't expect a bunch of enlisted men to break out, will they? The Colonel, maybe, but he wouldn't leave us here."

"Besides," Goldman added. "Klink's not the brightest bulb in the box."

Olsen digested that and went over to his bunk.

"Bwian! Bwian! Wait!" Seven year old Sara had lost her two front teeth and was having trouble with her brother's name. She was gingerly and slowly making her way towards the frozen pond. On her feet was her first pair of single blade ice skates. Brian skated over to the edge and held out his hand.

"Come on," he encouraged her. "I gotcha. You won't fall." He slowly helped her around the pond. Grasping her small hands in his, he skated backwards, pulling her forward. As she picked up speed, she began to laugh.

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

Once they skated around a few times, he twirled her around until they both ended up falling in a heap. Laughing, Brian helped his sister up.

"You did great, Sara. Let's get some cocoa, it's cold."

Sara looked up at her big brother. That day, he was more than a brother, he was her hero.

Olsen had dozed off, but suddenly woke. There were tears on his pillow. Some hero, he thought as he rolled over and faced the wall.

Prisoners started to return to the barracks for the evening. An extra roll call was held, just to throw the prisoners off balance. Olsen obeyed Hogan and ate most of his dinner. After the dishes were cleared, Kinch approached the Colonel and presented him with a now working radio. Hogan grinned. "We're in business. We'll sneak it below tonight."

"Ah, this must be… your sister. I can see the resemblance. What is she? Sixteen, seventeen? Beautiful girl. She has an Aryan look about her, wouldn't you say?"

"Keep her out of this, you bastard." Olsen, expecting to be hit, cringed. The interrogator laughed. Olsen was seated, opposite the interrogator, in an uncomfortable chair. He stared ahead at the wall, while the contents of his pockets and wallet were examined.

"This is your girlfriend?" The German officer asked. "Pretty." He put the picture down. Picking up another, he questioned the sergeant about his family. "Your mother, that's who is of German birth. Yes? Tell me, sergeant, what is her maiden name! Do your family and relatives know you volunteered to fight for England against their country? Perhaps they're already dead, by your bombs."

Olsen swiftly sat up in his bunk. He told himself to calm down and checked to see if anyone else was awake. Satisfied that the barracks were quiet, he tried to settle down and go back to sleep.

Kinch checked on Olsen during that morning. It was obvious the sergeant had not slept well. He knew it most likely had something to do with his time at the Dulag, but was unsure of how to get the sergeant to talk. So, for the time being, he played it by ear.

It was mid-morning when the door to the barracks flew open. Schultz strode in with a large bag and stood quietly at the entrance. The prisoners, anticipating the moment, began to crowd around the portly guard until Hogan, who came out of his office, calmed them down.

"Give him some breathing room. Go ahead Schultz."

"Mail call!" He began to hand out the letters and packages.

The next hour was taken up by reading, sharing news and passing out baked goods. Olsen stood by quietly and watched. Newkirk came over and patted him on his back.

"It will take a few months for the mail to catch up," he explained.

"They probably don't even know I'm alive," Olsen said as he looked up.

"They will." Newkirk reassured him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Late that night, Hogan and Kinch snuck the now working radio into the tunnel and began to set up the equipment. They and several other prisoners were down there for hours. Hogan finally called it an evening and sent everyone back up for a rest. They emerged in another barracks, where the first tunnel was begun months before Hogan's arrival, and then carefully snuck across the compound and back to Barracks two. It was now close to 2:00 AM and the barracks was quiet. Kinch had just begun to doze off, when Olsen began muttering in his sleep. His mumbling became worse and Kinch climbed out of his bunk to check on him. Olsen began to cry out, this time in German.

"He's one of us. Stop! Please!"

Kinch, shocked, stopped by Olsen's bunk and listened. Olsen's pleas were now getting louder and the racket began to awaken the rest of the barracks. "Go get Colonel Hogan," Kinch asked one of the other men.

The interrogator handed the family pictures back to Olsen with a promise of more questioning to come. After he was placed back into his cell, the sergeant crawled onto his cot and stared at the wall for several minutes. He then sat up, reached into his pocket and emptied its contents. Finding what he was looking for, he hesitated, but then made a decision. He struck the match, and held it for a moment, gazing hypnotically at the flame. He then burned every single one of the pictures and letters that he carried with him on all of his flights over Germany. Now numb over what he had done, he crawled back onto the cot and wept silently until he fell asleep.

"Where are your pictures? And letters, Sergeant?" The interrogator held back his anger over what he assumed the sergeant had done.

"They're gone. I burned them." Olsen glared at the interrogator, a spark of defiance showing in his eyes.

"Now, do you think that was wise, Sergeant?" The German officer spoke to Olsen as if he were a child. "We had ample opportunity to examine them." Olsen tensed. "Now you have nothing to take with you to a stalag, or are you abandoning them?"

"No. I didn't want your paws on them," Olsen shouted.

"Watch your temper, Sergeant!" The interrogator screamed. "You abandoned them, didn't you, when you signed up with the RAF? Just like your country." The interrogator lowered his voice and began speaking in German. "What is your country, Sergeant? It was Germany, wasn't it? You went to school here, with German children, didn't you? Your mother was born here. She has family here. Wait. Some of them may be fighting for the Fuhrer. Is that possible? You, fighting against your brothers! Quite an irony don't you think? Just like the American civil war." He stopped, then got up and stood directly over his prisoner. Olsen's hands were clenched so tightly around the arms of the chair, his knuckles were turning white. The officer put his hand on the sergeant's head and turned it towards him. "We can make life easier for you, Sergeant. Perhaps arrange a family reunion, if you agree to what the English would call a new arrangement?" Olsen closed his eyes and began reciting his name, rank and serial number. Frustrated, but not surprised, the interrogator dragged the sergeant out of his chair and told a guard to take the prisoner back to his cell.

"I'm sorry." Olsen was now crying in his sleep. "I burnt them. I'm sorry."

"Olsen! Olsen!" Kinch began to try to wake the sergeant.

"I'm not a murderer! You're the murderers!"

"Olsen." He gently shook the sergeant again. This time Olsen stopped and looked up in bewilderment. Hogan had now come over and some of the other men sympathetically gathered around.

"I got it. Go back to sleep," Hogan ordered. "Sergeant, help me get him into my office. Olsen, come on. Come on."

Kinch and Hogan gently led him into the office and sat him down on Hogan's lower bunk. Olsen, who appeared to be in shock, was trembling. He rolled into a fetal position and then became unresponsive. "I knew it was only a matter of time," Hogan said to Kinch. "He's been holding it in."

"Sir," Kinch whispered. "He speaks fluent German." Kinch sat beside the sergeant and began talking to him softly while stroking his back.

Hogan backed away for a moment, went into the common room and opened the door to the outside. Calling for a guard, he asked him to fetch the medic from his barracks and bring him over. He then returned to his office. Kinch was still quietly talking to the sergeant and looked up.

"I sent a guard to get Wilson," Hogan said. He was a bit unsure of what to do next, but was confident that he and Kinch weren't doing any harm.

The two men waited several minutes for the medic to arrive. Kinch continued to talk to Olsen while Hogan, now feeling totally helpless, stood by. Men suffering from battle fatigue back at the base had been whisked away to the hospital and cared for by the medical staff; sometimes not too successfully, Hogan had heard. He often visited injured men under his command, some of whom had later died. Those visits still haunted him. Now, there was no hospital or psychiatrist and no discharge. This was it. And he had to handle it one way or another. One thing he did realize was that soldiers were often reluctant to discuss what was bothering them. They were deathly afraid of being labeled a loon, a coward, a basket case or other disparaging names. As long as he was C.O., he would not allow that to happen. He had seen what men had been through in the air and when captured. A thought then crossed his mind and he went over to the bed.

Kinch moved aside as Hogan approached. The colonel sat down on the edge, leaned over and began to talk so softly that only he and Olsen were able to hear what was being said. At least he hoped Olsen could hear. At that moment, Wilson, carrying his medical bag, entered the room. Kinch approached the medic and explained what had occurred.

"Something happened to trigger this episode," Wilson surmised. "The colonel told me this morning he was eating a bit better and talking some more."

Kinch thought about what had happened during the day. "It may have been the mail call. He's been talking, but not about, you know…."

It was now Kinch that held back while Wilson approached the bunk. Hogan looked up at the medic and shook his head. Olsen was still curled up in a fetal position and was just staring blankly ahead. His trembling had ceased, but an occasional tear slid slowly down his cheek. The medic knew there was nothing he could do at this point. "Has he tried to hurt himself?" He asked.

Both Hogan and Kinch shook their heads.

"He knows you two better than me. Colonel, keep talking to him. He's awake. Kinch, it might be better if they were alone. Colonel, I'll be right outside."

The two sergeants left the office, closing the door softly behind them and sat down around the table. Most the men in the barracks were still awake and gathered around. LeBeau gave up on going back to sleep and put on a pot of coffee.

"I'll have to report this," Wilson said. "Damn."

"Why?" Kinch asked.

"The guard that got me will have it written down in his log."

"What could the Kommandant do? It's none of 'is business." Newkirk had also left his bunk and was now in the process of getting dressed.

"Has this happened before?" Kinch asked. "In camp, I mean."

"Not to this extent." Wilson took the mug of coffee LeBeau handed to him. "Thanks. And not since I've been here."

"Filthy Boche." LeBeau grumbled.

"You got that right," Kinch agreed.

Hogan began speaking with Olsen, again getting no reaction. Remembering what Kinch had discovered, he changed his tactics, and began talking in German.

"It's not a usual practice for the Germans to keep an enlisted man at the Dulag interrogation center for as long as you were there," he said casually. "Most of them are sent to the next stop, say in about four days. We officers, the pilots, well that's another story." He paused. Olsen's eyes shifted slightly towards the voice. Encouraged, Hogan took a breath and continued. "I got here a month after being shot down. I didn't see or speak to another Allied soldier for over three weeks." Hogan had not spoken about this to anyone. He was having difficulty getting it out, but he plodded on. "It was a living hell. First I was treated like some kind of a celebrity, you know? Look who we captured! A commander. I was paraded around like a prize poodle. That was bad, but then there was the next part. When I didn't cooperate…" Hogan's hands were now sweating and he could feel his heart beating faster. "First they told me my crew was dead, all of them. And then they switched and told me some of them were alive. They had the names. I had no clue. They threatened them…They threatened to tell the Red Cross I was killed, then leak my capture to the German press, so my parents would think I was dead, then read about the truth in the papers. By then, I didn't even realize how ridiculous that was. Our papers wouldn't have printed it and my parents had definitely canceled the daily delivery of Goebbel's Gazette." Had Olsen let out a small laugh? Hogan thought so. The sergeant appeared to be listening. Hogan was sure of it. He took another deep breath and kept going. "I was starving. Well, you know what they fed you. Pulled out all hours for questioning. Didn't sleep. Didn't know whether it was day or night. Back then," Hogan said, "They would get physical. They tried to prepare us, you know, in training, but the training's not much good when you know that in a few hours you would be popping down to the local pub for a beer, or going to an officer's club the next evening. But…" Hogan was surprised to see his hands shaking. "I survived. They were mad, boy, were they mad. Sent me here as punishment, I think."

"Did you find them, sir?" Olsen had rolled over and shifted onto his back.

"What?" Hogan had lost himself there for a moment.

"Your crew. Did you find them?"

It took a moment for Hogan to realize Olsen had spoken. Taking a moment to wipe the few tears falling down his cheek, he then answered, "No, no, I didn't. They weren't at the transit center when I got there. By then, the survivors had been sent on to another prison camp. I eventually found out I lost half of my crew." He stopped.

"I'm sorry, sir." Olsen spoke softly.

Hogan hoped the time was right. "Olsen, can you tell me what happened?"

The sergeant looked away.

"Nothing you can tell me will shock me… And it stays between you and me if that's what you want." Hogan waited patiently and finally Olsen spoke.

"Sir, I screwed up."

"Okay," Hogan said. "How?"

"I let them know I spoke German and then…" Olsen began to cry.

Hogan waited a moment for the sergeant to settle down, and then said, "Okay, Olsen, start at the beginning."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The men out in the barracks heard soft voices coming from inside the colonel's office. First, Hogan was talking, but they obviously could not make out what he was saying. Then, after a pause, he would begin again, until finally there was an awkward silence. Finally, they thought they could hear the sergeant speaking.

It was now getting close to roll call and Wilson was wondering if he should somehow make his way back to his barracks.

Newkirk glanced at his watch. "Schultz should be coming on duty in a bit."

The men were actually unsure of how to proceed in this situation, but seeing that Schultz was normally decent, they decided to tell him the truth.

Hogan listened as Olsen finally spoke about his experiences in Germany as a young boy, his family, his decision to go over to England, and then the fateful day when his plane got hit and he was captured. He ended his story as he got on the truck that brought him to the stalag several days before.

Hogan felt for the young sergeant and his ordeal, but he needed to try and start the process of recovery. "Olsen. Look at me."

The sergeant, who had been sitting on the edge of the bunk, looked up.

Hogan realized Olsen was so burdened and overwhelmed with guilt and fear for others, real and imagined, that he had almost lost the ability to function. The colonel spoke slowly, "You survived. You did what you had to do to survive. That's all any of us can do. You did not screw up," Hogan said firmly. "Understand?"

The sergeant nodded.

Hogan repeated the word. "Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Olsen whispered.

Hogan heard a quiet tapping on the door. He walked over and opened it a crack. It was Kinch.

"Sir, roll call is coming up. Do you still need Wilson?"

"No, I'll talk to him later. Call a guard and have him returned to his barracks. Tell Schultz… We're not coming out for roll call."

"What do you mean he's not coming out for roll call?" This was an abnormal situation and Schultz, who depended on routine, was flustered.

"'E's with Olsen, Schultz." Newkirk stepped forward. "In 'is office. Let's just say they 'ad a long chat and now they need to catch up on their sleep."

Olsen. The newest prisoner in his barracks. Schultz knew the medic had been called out to Barracks Two in the middle of the night. He was also cognizant of Olsen's difficulties when he first arrived at camp. He gave in. "Let me see them in there and I'll let it go, Newkirk."

Newkirk agreed, brought the sergeant into the barracks and cracked open the door to Hogan's office. Both men were asleep. Hogan was in the top bunk, while Olsen was on the bottom. Satisfied, Schultz nodded, left the hut and reported all present to the Kommandant, who was too busy and too cold to initially notice that Hogan was missing. He scurried back to his office while the men returned to the relative warmth of their barracks and attempted to regain circulation in their hands and feet.

Hogan found them huddled around the stove several hours later. As promised, he didn't divulge what had happened to the sergeant, just that he and Olsen had talked and that he believed the sergeant had made an important first step on the road to recovery. It was now up to him whether or not and how much to tell the others.

It was much later that morning that Hogan was called down to Klink's office, ostensibly to explain Wilson's visit and his own absence at roll call. Klink; however, was, although he wouldn't admit it, curious about what had happened to the sergeant. He would be disappointed; however, as Hogan remained tight-lipped. Asking more questions or investigating further could be dangerous and Klink's primary goal was to go unnoticed, so he decided to drop the matter. "See that you are both at the next roll call, Colonel Hogan."

"We'll be there, sir," was the tired response.

Olsen finally woke up around the same time. Sergeant Kinchloe, who was seated at Hogan's desk and was fiddling with equipment, heard the rustling and looked up.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

Olsen waited a moment, regained his bearings and popped off the bunk. "Yeah, I think so."

"You gave us a bit of a scare, you know." Kinch turned back to his equipment.

"I, um, talked it out." Olsen walked over to the desk. "Thanks, Kinch."

"For what?"

"I heard you. Talking."

"I know you did."

Olsen looked down at his hands, and then looked directly at the other sergeant. "I can help with whatever is going on around here. I can help, Kinch."

Kinch put down his wire cutter. "Well, then, you need to tell that to Colonel Hogan. And we'll find something for you to do and then…"

"And then we're breaking out of here," Olsen remarked.

"That's the plan," Kinch grinned.

Olsen smiled back, then left the office and found his way back to his own bunk. No one commented on his return or asked how he was. When Hogan returned from his brief meeting with Klink and a short session with Wilson, he found the sergeant seated at the table, playing poker with Newkirk and several other men. Olsen stood up and approached the Colonel. "Sir, I volunteer to start teaching other prisoners German, if you think it would be a help."

"Good," Hogan replied. "Goldman, work with Olsen here to get the classes organized. Kinch, you and I need to go underground. Newkirk, Schnitzer is due in again at 1500 hours. LeBeau, I need you to work with the dogs around their doghouse. The rest of you; you know your assignments. Let's move."

Hogan was hoping to break out in late spring or early summer. It would take that long to complete the plans. He didn't want to leave anything to chance, so as the tunnel was expanded, supplies were stored underground, and contacts were being made over the radio and occasionally in person.

As the weeks went by, Olsen's nightmares, while not totally absent, had decreased, and as he got busier, he started to become more sociable with his fellow prisoners, opening up somewhat with his closest friends in the barracks. Only the colonel was aware of the full psychological trauma he had suffered after being captured, but the sergeant's language students were curious as to where he learned German and his background did not remain secret for very long. He started sending letters home immediately and waited impatiently for the first sign his family in the states knew he was safe. Hogan, meanwhile, carefully cultivated Olsen's knowledge of the area and drew upon his memory of the topography to improve upon their maps and plans.

As the first tunnel reached a certain point underneath the compound, Hogan began going on scouting trips outside the camp to look for the safest area to hide an entrance. Rolling underneath the fence, often alone and sometimes with backup, he would survey a specific grid and then return, normally within a few hours. Occasionally, he began to authorize fake escape attempts just to keep Klink's record intact and to keep an eye on camp security. He was on one of his scouting trips outside camp one night in late March, when the sound of an airplane caught his attention. Reaching for his binoculars, he watched in dismay as the plane showed signs of going into a tailspin. Several parachutes were visible and one was drifting not too from his location. Knowing that patrols would now be scouring the area, the colonel took cover. He could see one of the airmen hit the ground and, after checking around, he made a quick dash over to the downed flyer, who was frantically attempting to detangle himself from the chute.

"Don't talk or move," Hogan hissed. "I'm American."

The lieutenant, now free, had reached for his pistol and was pointing it at the colonel.

"Really, I am," Hogan pleaded. "Put the gun down and I'll keep you from being captured."

"Who the hell are you?" The lieutenant demanded.

"Colonel Hogan. I'm from a POW camp near here."

"Hogan? From the 504th? That Hogan?"

"Yeah."

"Lieutenant Jeffers, sir." He saluted.

"Forget ceremony, Lieutenant. We've got to move before the patrol gets here." Hogan was thinking fast. "Grab your chute."

The men in Barracks Two were, as usual, waiting for Hogan to return. He came back a little earlier than expected that night.

"This is Lieutenant Jeffers." Hogan introduced the flyer to the group of very surprised prisoners. "Just got shot down. Stopped him from being captured."

Jeffers let out a tentative wave. He was a bit unsure of why he was in the middle of a prison camp on purpose.

"Mon Dieu," LeBeau whispered to no one in particular.

"Colonel, if you don't mind me askin', where are we supposed to hide 'im? Schultz may get suspicious if there's one extra at roll call in the mornin'," Newkirk said.

"I thought of that. Here, Jeffers, sit down." Hogan offered the lieutenant a chair. "We'll sneak him into the tunnel tonight and…" The colonel began to pace, then snapped his fingers. "Then tomorrow, we'll make contact with Schnitzer. See if he can sneak him out in the truck and send him through the safe houses. He'll be our test case."

"Excuse me? I'm what?" The lieutenant looked a tad confused.

"We're working on organizing an escape route with the underground. You get to try it, report back, and let us know how it works. Either that, or you go back under the wire, turn yourself in, and you're a POW." Hogan looked at Jeffers and waited for his answer.

I'll try the escape route," the lieutenant decided.

It took three days for Jeffers to make his escape. The POWs had to fit him with clothes they had stored underground. Newkirk, who had been practicing forgery skills, came up with papers. The veterinarian had provided the POWs with a camera, darkroom supplies and sample ID cards. The officer spent some time hidden in the tunnels, but the men discovered that at certain times during the day, no one noticed the extra man. It was a few weeks later that Kinch received a message on the now busy radio that Lieutenant Jeffers had successfully escaped Germany, and that British and American officials were grateful and thrilled with the new mission, especially when it happened again a few weeks later.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"What do they mean, our new mission?" Hogan was pacing back and forth in the common room. "We didn't have an old mission. Just break as many out of here as we can. I made plans."

The men were watching their C.O. create a path on the floor. He was venting and they knew not to interrupt.

"I had plans," he repeated. "It was going to work. Papers, safe houses, language training, clothing. We were going to arrange for a sub pick up! I've been playing the cowed prisoner for Klink now for, how long?" He snapped his fingers. "LeBeau?"

"Four months, three days, seven hours, and twenty-one minutes. sir"

"Kinch. Tell the Underground to relay a message to London. We will continue to assist downed fliers until our escape is organized. We'll advise. Got that?"

"Yes, sir." Kinch left the building and headed for the dog pen. He returned a while later with news. "The Underground has recently picked up a few Allied men." He did not quite know how to relay the news, so he just said it matter-of-factly. "The fliers heard they were to head in this direction if they were shot down, sir. Also, the bombings are going to increase. They expect more Americans to be showing up in full force by May."

"Meaning more planes, missions, and captured airmen." Hogan began to think about what London had said. He went into his office and for the rest of the day began weighing the pros and cons.

Olsen and the other men in the barracks, as well as a few other prisoners from around the camp, were waiting in the compound for Hogan to finally emerge from his cocoon.

"He's been in there for hours." Kinch walked over to the door, opened it a crack and heard nothing, then returned.

"Not the first time. Remember right after 'e got 'ere and settled in?" Newkirk recalled. "Decided five men escapin' were barely worth the effort."

"Had to have it done right," another man added. "Or not at all."

The newcomers had heard the stories. Now one small tunnel had expanded to passages being dug throughout the entire camp. The anticipated escape was on hold until everyone was trained and arrangements were airtight. Some men had even made trial runs outside the perimeter of the camp and an emergency tunnel entrance was being prepared in a hollowed out tree stump.

Finally the door opened and Hogan corralled his men. "I've been weighing the pros and cons," he started to say. "It's like this. If we go with the original plan, some prisoners will be left behind. There may be repercussions. Klink may be replaced. I don't know what will happen. If we stay and change the mission, we can make a difference. But it means we stay, all of us. No escapes. We'll be stationed here. I only want volunteers; anyone not on board, well, we'll figure something out. And, if we get caught it's a firing squad. This will take a lot of work. Any questions?" Hogan finished.

The men were stunned into silence.

"I'll give you a chance to think about it. Let me know your decision." Hogan walked outside and left the men alone in the barracks.

"He's been here too long," was one prisoner's comment.

"I think he's going batty," Newkirk agreed.

"Can he make us do this?" Goldman asked.

"It won't work if we all don't go along with it," Kinch stated. "If we leave, somehow, he'll lose his main team."

"How could we leave?" Newkirk argued. "They'll be an escape and Klink's record will be ruined. The whole thing will go up in smoke."

"What about the rest of the prisoners?" LeBeau asked.

"They'll have to all be on board," Olsen stated.

"He's right," Kinch agreed with Olsen. "It's all of us or nothing."

The men argued amongst themselves for a short time, and then unanimously made their decision. As nutty as the idea was, it was not an unknown situation. A mass escape still had its perils and somehow Colonel Hogan's plans and enthusiasm were infectious. They walked outside and found him sitting on the bench near the door.

Kinch spoke. "We're all in."

Hogan looked up and nodded. "Call a meeting of all barracks chiefs."

Work on the mission began in earnest the next day. New tunnel extensions and branches were designed and begun. Supplies were requested and Schnitzer continued to deliver the needed items. An emergency tunnel entrance was completed right outside of camp in a hollow stump Hogan had discovered, and the doghouse entrance was secured. Work began on building entrances in the barracks and training started for men tapped as tailors, forgers and metal workers. One of Hogan's main goals was to get direct contact to Allied headquarters, without having to go through the Underground, and when it was finally attained, a huge cheer rang out throughout the tunnel system.

During this time, more downed fliers trekked through, along with several escaped prisoners from other camps. Olsen's primary function up to this point was to coordinate and teach German in secret to small groups of prisoners and to familiarize the men in camp with the area, German culture and mannerisms. He still had no idea if his German friends and relatives were safe, and he occasionally suffered from pangs of guilt over his participation in bombings; something he had shared only with Colonel Hogan.

"They're experts at playing with your mind," Hogan had told him. "They know what they're doing. It's not something you can just put a band aid on and wait for it to go away."

The colonel gave Olsen another position, preparing Hogan's guests for the trip across the country to freedom. It was around the same time, now three months after he was shot down, that he finally received a letter from home. A package, with the pictures he had asked for, soon followed. Thrilled, he showed off his family and good naturedly fended off questions about his sister. "She's only seventeen, too young for the likes of you guys." Olsen grabbed his pictures and pinned them up on the wall next to his bunk.

The colonel walked into the barracks and interrupted the conversation. "I just got word. There's going to be a big raid tonight. They're going after the fuel depots outside of Hammelburg. We could be looking at a lot of downed planes." Hogan un-scrolled a map. "The area is protected by antiaircraft units posted around the perimeter."

"They'll be sitting ducks. Can we do anything?" Kinch asked.

Hogan shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. The Underground has notified London about the guns, but they said the raid is still on. The best thing we can do is be prepared to grab any airmen that parachute down. The Germans will be on the ball, but if we're ready and get there first, we can save a lot of guys." Hogan paused. "That's why I'm asking for volunteers. This won't be a one or two man show. We'll need to cover more land."

"And be far enough away so we don't get caught in the raid." Kinch was already thinking about strategy.

"That's right." Hogan said. "We'll need someone to stay here and man the radio, and three other teams. Seven men."

Everyone in the barracks stepped forward. Hogan was touched by their loyalty, but not surprised. "LeBeau, Newkirk, Kinch. You'll lead your teams, since you've been out before. Olsen, you're with me."

That night, one by one, the eight men slipped out of camp. Each team had a flashlight, one weapon, and binoculars. They all rendezvoused in the woods and then spread out throughout the area. By that time, they were actually closer to the town of Hammelburg than the camp; a fact that was a little nerve wracking. Weeks of training and memorization of roads and landmarks and dry runs would be tested. They took their positions and waited.

"'Ere they come." Newkirk and his partner, Goldman, heard the drone and then spotted the formation. Although quite a distance away, the noise was still deafening and the flashes of the bombs and burning fuel turned the night into daylight.

"Look." Goldman handed Newkirk the binoculars. "I just saw someone get hit."

"There's three chutes," Newkirk replied. He waited a few moments, but saw nothing more. "Let's go."

The other teams were also tracking chutes as they came down. They began to quickly scramble to get to the downed fliers before the German patrols. Hogan and Olsen spotted two chutes falling not too far from their position. Before leaving their hiding place, they quickly checked and, seeing it was clear, headed off into the glen where they had seen the airmen fall.

"Take it slow," Hogan warned the sergeant. "They'll think we're from a German patrol at first." Quietly, they snuck into the area. Taking care not to startle the airmen, Hogan let out a loud whisper, "Don't say anything. We're Americans. Get down."

The two fliers did not argue, fortunately, Olsen thought as they dropped to the ground. He and Hogan went over and began to help them out of their parachutes.

"Where'd you come from?" one asked as he gathered up his material.

"A POW camp near here," Hogan explained. "We've got teams gathering up who we can. Better us than the Germans. Come on, we've got to move." Hogan began to hustle the group back to the rendezvous point.

Seven fliers were rescued that night and taken back to Stalag 13. Once they were settled in the still expanding tunnel, the men gathered up above to discuss the mission.

Hogan was actually a bit disappointed at the count. The teams weren't able to reach a few of the men they saw floating down, but he put that aside and began to discuss the next step. Since this was the largest group they had rescued at once, space was tight and logistics would be difficult.

Getting them out all at once would present a problem. Hogan was trying to picture Schnitzer's truck in his head. He was not sure they would all fit, but they would have to leave close together to make the sub pick up.

"'Ow 'bout 'alf of them go in the truck and then the rest go through the tunnel," Newkirk suggested.

"We'll need someone to escort them to the first safe house, then. We'll have to get an underground unit to help with that." Hogan called Kinch over. "Check with them, Kinch. See if that could be arranged."

And so, the prisoners from Stalag 13 began processing the seven airmen and successfully sent them on their way.

The seven men who had accompanied the colonel on the rescue mission that night had tasted adventure and longed for more. Olsen, in particular, was glad to be out of the confines of the barracks and prison camp, and eagerly volunteered for any outside mission, whether it was rescuing fliers or escorting escaped prisoners from other stalags back to camp.

Although his nightmares, fears and interrogation experience were always on the back of his mind, he was able to work through them as long as he was busy; and Hogan and Wilson, the medic, took a special interest in the sergeant. Wilson was keenly interested in his recovery from a medical standpoint and Hogan made sure that Olsen knew he was available, if necessary. After several months, however, the sergeant began to wonder and worry about his relatives, and had to fight the longing to once again see where he had spent the better part of his childhood.

.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

By the end of the summer, Hogan and his team had created a small rescue unit that functioned like clockwork. Allied Command in London had begun to notify the camp by radio of scheduled bombing runs in the Hammelburg area, and members of the travelers' aide society, as the colonel had dubbed their operation, were at the ready, watching for downed fliers, who somehow knew to head in their direction. Underground units had set up a secret system in the area that passed escaped prisoners through to Stalag 13, where they would be processed and sent home. In addition, the tunnel system had expanded to the point that it now housed a counterfeit unit.

With experience, Hogan had changed tactics and enhanced training. Team members were no longer going out in uniform, but were normally dressed as civilians, or wearing dark outfits. Faces were darkened and dog tags were left back in the tunnel. A rag tag multinational group of airmen were now becoming commandos. The rest of the camp population became adept at staging diversions and fake escapes, and Hogan's quick thinking and manipulation of Klink was becoming legendary.

Olsen, now a member of Hogan's core rescue team, Newkirk and LeBeau went under the wire one night to meet up with a group of escaped prisoners from another stalag that had made contact with the Underground. This was a routine job they had successfully completed several times before. After changing into civilian clothing and blackening their faces, the three men dropped their tags into a container, grabbed their flashlights and weapons, and headed out.

"I used to hike around here," Olsen commented as the three men waited for a signal.

"'Ow can you tell?" Newkirk cracked. "It's bloomin' dark."

"It wasn't that long ago," Olsen replied. "Hold it. There's a signal." He had spotted the flashlight held by the Underground escort. The two groups met in the middle of a wooded area. "We'll take them from here," Olsen told the two Underground agents. "How many do we have?"

Six tired and bedraggled men came forward. "Where to, now?" one asked.

"Next stop," LeBeau answered. "Stalag 13. For processing."

"Another prison camp? Are you kidding me?" one of the escapees grumbled.

"Non, we're not kidding," LeBeau replied.

The group began walking the mile back to camp. Carefully keeping away from the road, they plodded along for several minutes. Unfortunately, coming towards them was a routine German army patrol that had been notified of the mass breakout from the other camp.

"Spread out and get down," Newkirk barked at the group.

They quickly complied and watched as the patrol came closer. The Germans soon became near enough for Olsen to see and hear. He counted ten men in the patrol. Olsen's group had three pistols between them. The sergeant glanced around the area. He pondered diverting the attention of the patrol by making a run for it and then slipping into a crevice he recalled finding years ago hidden underneath a nearby rock shelf.

"Psst, Newkirk." Olsen got the corporal's attention. "They're gonna find us."

Newkirk crawled over.

"I think so." Newkirk, as well, was trying to figure out how to get out of the trap they were in.

"They know about the escaped prisoners," Olsen whispered. "I don't think they'll be leaving any time soon. Listen. See that shelf over there?"

"Yeah, mate. What about it?"

"There's a crevice underneath there. Just big enough to hide someone. If I make a run for it, I can divert their attention."

"No! You'll get killed. Don't be an idiot."

"We're all going to get killed if they find us," Olsen argued. "Here." He removed his pistol. "Give it to one of the new guys."

"No, you may need it. Keep it," Newkirk said. "I don't like this."

"I outrank you," Olsen reminded him. "No arguments."

The two men whispered the plan down the line, and then the sergeant began to crawl away from the men and towards the shelf. When the soldiers in the German patrol were turned in the opposite direction, he took off.

Hearing the noises Olsen made as he ran, the patrol turned. One of the men yelled halt and fired, then headed in Olsen's direction. As the rest of the men followed, LeBeau, Newkirk and the escaped prisoners quickly took off and headed towards the camp.

While Newkirk dealt with the escapees, LeBeau headed further into the tunnel where Hogan was waiting, faced his commander and gave him the bad news.

"Olsen didn't come back, sir."

The words he had been dreading for months hit Hogan like a bullet to his heart.

"What happened?"

"We ran into a patrol. He took the heat away from the rest of us and ran."

Hogan attempted to convince himself and the rest of the men from the barracks that once things quieted down and the patrols went elsewhere, Olsen would somehow make his way back before roll call; that is, if he were still alive.

"Were there shots fired?" He asked LeBeau.

"Yes," the corporal replied dejectedly. "But, he said he knew of a place to hide, some place he remembered."

Hogan looked at his watch. He was sure Olsen could find his way back; after all, he helped complete the maps of the area, but his men never went that far outside of camp without backup. He realized it was now too late to send anyone out for him. No one was moving and Hogan had to bring every one out of their shocked stupor.

"Standing here doing nothing isn't going to bring him back," he said sharply. "Let's move. Kinch, contact the Underground; tell them what happened. Everyone else, you know what to do."

Kinch moved over to the radio, while Newkirk and LeBeau ushered the escapees further into the tunnel and got them settled. Hogan began to check his watch every five minutes.

"They'll keep an eye out for him, sir," Kinch reported. "Once they know the area is clear, they'll send someone out to look for tracks. Hang on, sir. Wait. They just saw a convoy leave from Gestapo headquarters. They're sending more men to fan out to search the area for the escaped prisoners."

"Damn. They may come too close to the perimeter. I need reconnaissance," Hogan said.

"I'll go," LeBeau volunteered.

Fifteen more minutes went by and LeBeau returned, out of breath and with bad news. "I had to scramble back fast, Colonel. They're doing a grid search, fanning out from the furthest perimeter. The guard tower added more light to the outside." He shook his head.

Hogan had to come up with a plan; otherwise Stalag 13 would have its very first real escape. "Newkirk, find me the escaped prisoner that's the closest to Olsen's size and bring him back to the barracks. Everyone but Kinch go back. Kinch…"

"I know, keep listening, but give myself enough time to get back."

Once Olsen had drawn the attention of the German patrol away from the rest of men, he threw himself underneath the rock shelf and slipped into the crevice that was fortunately still there. Praying that only he knew of the hiding spot, he flung himself up against the wall and tried not to make a sound. He remained still for an hour, until finally he gathered the nerve to come out. Looking at his watch, Olsen realized that he would have to hurry to make roll call, and that's if he didn't have to hide. Hoping for the best, he set off on as quick a pace as he could muster without making a noise.

Olsen made it to within a half a mile of the camp and, after peering through his binoculars, realized he could go no further. He also knew he couldn't stay where he was. If he got caught, he'd be shot for being out of uniform. He turned and started heading back towards town at a fast pace, wondering what he should do next. Suddenly, the sergeant recalled that the map of the area showed an abandoned barn located a short distance off of the Hammelburg road. Looking at the sky, he got his bearings and headed in that direction. He stayed just off of the road, constantly alert for signs of vehicles or patrols, until finally he let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the structure. After making sure the coast was clear, he entered the building and flopped down near some bundles of hay. Knowing he would miss roll call, he made himself comfortable and dozed off.

A now confused escaped prisoner found himself hustled out of the tunnel, led across the compound and shown into one of the barracks, where he found himself face to face with the POW's commanding officer and leader of their little rescue operation.

"Corporal Martin, sir," he stammered.

"Martin, you're now a sergeant." Hogan did not wait. He and Newkirk quickly changed the corporal into some of Olsen's clothes. "We've got a man missing," Hogan explained. "You're now him. Don't talk to anyone or do anything, just stand where we tell you. Got it?"

The corporal, who was now not only confused, but scared, just numbly nodded his head.

Olsen awoke with a start as the rising sun cast shadows across the floor of the barn. He found a puddle of water and as he cleaned off his face, he contemplated his next move. The only friendly German that he knew of by name was Schnitzer. Seeing that he was a veterinarian, he might be known, and if he could locate him, he could get some help. He then realized he would have to ask, which would mean interacting with the local population, a thought that initially terrified him. He looked down at his clothes. What seemed a danger hours before was now an advantage. He then set off towards Hammelburg. The town was close by and it was not long before the sergeant hit the outskirts.

Remarkably, it looked as it if it had so far escaped damage from the bombing runs; the raids would have been concentrated on the industrial area on the other side of town. As he got closer, memories from his youth came flooding back. Olsen had been here before, more than once. On the outing where he had discovered the crevice, he and his cousins had gone into town afterwards for a snack.

He recalled stopping here with his parents after a drive. His cousins. His anxiety rising, Olsen stopped and bent down and began to take deep breaths, just as Wilson had taught him. Some of his mother's relatives lived not far from here, twenty kilometers perhaps. Knock it off, he told himself. You'll get killed if you don't keep moving and that won't help anybody.

Olsen began to head toward the railroad tracks, knowing that they would lead to the center of the town. It was still early and not too many people were out and about. A scary thought then crossed his mind. Why was he here? Men of his age would be in uniform. He would automatically arouse suspicion. Hoping that an injury would deflect questions, Olsen started to limp. He then realized he had no papers. Great. He could be stopped anytime. He needed directions and he needed to get out of here fast. Now thinking that maybe heading into town was not the wisest choice, Olsen was about to turn around, when he spotted a café several blocks away. Taking a chance, he decided to see if it was open and if someone could give him directions. He slowly edged towards the building and quickly glanced inside. Spying no one besides the proprietor, Olsen made sure his pistol was out of sight, and limped in to the restaurant.

"Good morning," he said in perfect German to the woman standing behind the counter.

"Morning," the woman replied.

"I need some help," Olsen said. "I'm looking for a veterinarian. I've been traveling and my dog is very sick. Do you know of one?"

"Yes, Schnitzer. He has a kennel just outside of town." The woman drew him a small map on a napkin and handed it to him.

"Thank you very much, Fraulein. Thank you." Olsen left the restaurant and continued limping until he was out of sight. He walked for about 20 minutes, being careful to stay to the side of the road and keeping his eye out for signs of trucks, or patrols. The sun had now fully risen and he was beginning to get hot and thirsty. Stopping a moment to wipe the sweat off his face, he spotted what he hoped was Schnitzer's home and kennel. He plodded ahead.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The residents of Barracks Two heard the siren, and mustered outside for roll call that morning. They appeared sleepy, but every single one of them was on edge; none more so than the unfortunate escaped corporal now tapped to take Olsen's place in line, and Colonel Hogan, who would be in charge of the con job if Schultz noticed Olsen's absence. The men nervously shuffled their feet as Schultz began his count. No one was in a mood that morning for shenanigans or the usual banter, and efforts to throw the sergeant off were conspicuously absent. Making his way towards the back, Schultz unfortunately stopped. Hogan held his tongue and waited.

"Colonel Hogaaan, where is Sergeant Olsen, and who is that man?"

"Sergeant Olsen is otherwise occupied, Schultz, and this man's taking his place, just so your count won't be off. You see Schultz," Hogan put one arm around the sergeant's shoulder and with the other removed two bars of chocolate from his pocket. "We care about you. We don't want to make your life difficult."

"Colonel Hooogaaaan."

"Schultz. What would happen if your count was off?"

"I'd have to report Olsen missing and…"

"And who would get the blame, Schultz?"

"No one. You would. No," the sergeant paused. "I would."

"That's right. So you need twelve men. We have twelve men."

"But, but, who is he?"

"That's Olsen," Hogan whispered as he held out the chocolate.

Schultz hesitated, grabbed the bars and walked away. All twelve men breathed a sigh of relief.

Olsen spotted the veterinarian's shingle hanging on the door. He hesitantly knocked and glanced around the property. Schnitzer's office was attached to the house. The dog kennels were around the back and to the right. Olsen had no idea if Schnitzer had a family, although he thought he had heard that the Kommandant's pretty secretary and the vet were somehow related.

A woman, possibly Schnitzer's wife, came to the door. "Yes, may I help you?" it appeared she was used to visitors showing up unannounced.

"Good morning," Olsen said politely. "Is Dr. Schnitzer in? I…I need his help."

The woman peered behind the young man, expecting perhaps to see a sick animal.

"Please."

"Do you have need of his services?"

"No, yes," Olsen stuttered. "If I can talk with him, I can explain."

The woman opened the door and led him into the waiting room. "Wait here," she said. Olsen heard her calling for her husband as she left the room.

Oscar Schnitzer and his wife had been starting to eat their breakfast when the tapping on their door interrupted their morning routine. He followed his wife into the waiting area and briefly glanced at the nervous young man standing in front of him. "You have a sick animal?" He asked.

"No, sir," Olsen replied. He wondered if his wife knew of his underground activities. He couldn't take that chance. "My problem sir, it's private."

Oscar looked again and thought that this man looked somewhat familiar. "Anything you need to tell me young man, you can say in front of my wife."

The vet, Olsen had been told back in the camp, was not known for his bedside manner, and this morning was no exception. But he was their primary contact and Olsen plunged ahead. "I'm from Stalag 13. I got trapped outside and I need help getting back."

"I don't know what you're talking about, son." Schnitzer began to move Olsen towards the door.

"I'm a prisoner. I work with Colonel Hogan. I'm Sergeant Olsen. If we can get to a radio, we can let them know I'm okay."

Schnitzer and his wife looked at each other, then Schnitzer moved closer to the sergeant and examined him. "Come in," he finally said. "We have to be very careful," the vet explained as he and Olsen sat at the kitchen table, while his wife got busy preparing something for the sergeant to eat.

"I understand, sir," Olsen replied.

"We don't have a radio here," Schnitzer continued, "It's too dangerous. I can make contact through an underground operative, but most of the time, I just get messages passed back and forth with the dogs."

Olsen was aware of that arrangement.

"Now, tell me what happened, and why you can't get back to camp."

Olsen described the previous night's activities and how he'd been turned back a half a mile from camp.

"Oscar, can we sneak him back in the truck?" His wife asked.

"Yes," Oscar replied, "But not yet. I was there yesterday. I need an excuse to show up again so soon, and with these patrols around, they're liable to stop and search the inside of the truck."

"What if I ride with you in the front, like an assistant?" Olsen asked.

"That's a possibility, but you'll need papers," Oscar said.

"Seems it might be easier to wait until the patrols leave the area," Olsen realized, although he sounded dejected.

"I think the first thing we should do is to try to make contact with the camp to let them know the sergeant is safe," Greta suggested. The Schnitzer's had two options. The first was to contact one of their nieces, the camp secretary. She was sympathetic to the underground and might be able to pass a message to Colonel Hogan. The second option was to ask Oscar's underground contact to send a coded message by radio. Neither Oscar nor Olsen wanted to involve Helga, so they decided to go with option two. "We may be able to have them scout out the area as well, and let us know when the patrols are gone." Schnitzer thought for a moment. "I should be able to come up with an excuse for an earlier visit."  
Olsen was clearly uncomfortable. He didn't want to put any of these people in danger, but he had, at the moment, no place to go. The sergeant sat there, drinking his coffee, while he waited for other people to decide his fate.

"You stay here," Schnitzer said as he prepared to go out. "We have a special hiding place. Greta will show you where it is, just in case. I'll be back as soon as I can."

After her husband left, Greta began to clear the table. Olsen stood up and started to help. "No, sit," she said. "Do you want more coffee?"

"No, thank you, ma'am." Olsen watched as the woman hovered. The veterinarian's wife reminded Olsen of one of his aunts on his father's side. Her hair, which was worn up in a bun, had a few specks of gray. She was wearing an apron over a somewhat worn dress that fit loosely over her slightly plump figure. Olsen guessed that the Schnitzer's were a few years older than his parents, possibly in their early to mid fifties.

Greta took Olsen down to the basement "We have a space hidden back there, just in case. You need to know where it is." He went over to the wall and checked. With her help, he located the entrance to the closet sized area. "Not easy to find," he commented.  
"Yes," she agreed. "But that's the point, yes?"

Olsen then followed as she returned upstairs and went outside to feed the dogs. The dogs, seeing a familiar face, wagged their tails in a friendly greeting. Olsen went inside the kennel area and gave them all a pat.

"You seem to have a natural way with animals, Sergeant."

"Thank you, ma'am." Olsen was tossing a stick and waiting for one of the shepherds to bring it back. "But it's really Corporal LeBeau who helped with the training at the camp, and Dr. Schnitzer, of course."

"Of course," she smiled. "Come, I would feel better if you are inside."

Greta Schnitzer showed Olsen into the living room. She could sense he was both tired and a bit uncomfortable. She wanted to ask him some questions, mainly about why and how he spoke perfect, flawless German, (Just like Colonel Hogan, she had heard), but decided against it. Instead, she offered the sergeant a place to lie down. "Here." She brought over an afghan. "You had no sleep last night." He protested, but she insisted. "Come, it will do you some good."

Olsen obeyed and was asleep within minutes.

Oscar Schnitzer made his way into town and headed for a flower shop in the middle of the shopping district. It was still early and most businesses were not yet open, but the vet knew the proprietors would be inside, readying their fresh merchandise for that day's sales. He rang the bell and waited. A man peeked through the curtain on the door.

"We're not open yet," he said after he opened the door a crack.

"I know," Schnitzer replied, "but I saw movement and thought you might be able to help me out with some merchandise."

"Of course. I can make an exception. Come in, please."

Schnitzer entered and walked towards the back, while the shop owner closed the door.

"I need to get an urgent message through to Stalag 13."

The shop owner, a member of the Underground with the code name Aries, didn't question Schnitzer's motives. He showed him to the back room where the radio was hidden. "What is it?" He asked.

Schnitzer explained.

"We were notified a few hours ago that he was missing, Oscar," Aries said. "They'll be glad to hear from us. I'm sure someone is on the other end." Aries wrote the message in code and then sent it through. As he had thought, someone was monitoring the radio.

Kinch quickly decoded the message. He let out a quick prayer of thanks and asked another prisoner who was down there with him to fetch Colonel Hogan immediately.

"Kinch?" Hogan had rushed over to the entrance and flew down the ladder.

"Olsen's okay, sir." He handed the colonel the coded message.

"How did he find his way to Schnitzer's? Never mind. Tell them that patrols are still in the area. He can't come back through the tunnel or fence. Not yet." Hogan ran his hand through his hair, while Kinch tapped out the message. "It's too soon for a change of dogs."

"They say they'll figure out how to bring him back in the truck," Kinch waited. "He'll make up a reason to come, but they need to get papers made in case they're stopped; or they can wait until the patrols leave."

"It may not be for a few days." Hogan was so relieved, he didn't care. "Tell them we'll check with things here, and thanks. We can't get the escaped prisoners out anyway, until the patrols leave."

Schnitzer returned home and found Olsen still fast asleep on the couch. His wife looked at him, signaled him to be quiet and hustled him into the kitchen. "Well?" She asked.

"We made contact with the camp."

"They must be relieved."

"Yes," he replied, "But now we have to figure out how to get him back. The area is still surrounded. The Underground will try to keep tabs and let us know when it's clear. He may have to stay here for a day or so."

"So, Oscar, he stays here. Who'll know?"

"I want to get into town and get us some papers. Aries and I discussed it. We think that will be safer for everyone. But…" The vet paused. "I have some calls to make. I still have to make money," he grumbled. "Keep an eye out," he warned, "I should be back before lunch."

Olsen woke up several hours later. He found Greta in the kitchen and shyly asked if he could freshen up.

"Come." She showed him to the washroom, found the sergeant some extra shavings supplies, then went downstairs to make some tea. A hot drink and some pastries were waiting for Olsen when he came back downstairs.

"Feel better?" She asked him.

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

"What is your first name, Sergeant?"

Realizing they hadn't been properly introduced, Olsen blushed. "Brian, ma'am."

"Brian, Brian," Greta stumbled over the English name until it rolled off her tongue. "Brian, your German is perfect. No accent. Did you learn it at school?"

Olsen looked down at his plate. He swallowed. "No," he whispered. "My mother is German."

"I'm sorry." Greta placed her hand on his. "This is obviously painful for you. I won't pry."

"No, it's all right. My mother moved to the states with her parents, my grandparents. My father's American. But… I… Grew up here. In Düsseldorf. We left in 1935."

"I see. This is difficult for you. But, because of your knowledge, you were able to get away and find us. So you see, Brian," Greta patted Olsen's hand. "Something good came out of your experience."

Olsen thought back to his interrogation and capture and what had happened and shuttered. "I don't know about that. I've seen…"

"Shush." She stopped him from talking. "Oscar and I know some of what has been happening. We fear it is worse than you and others can even imagine. But, you're doing your part. You're a big help to your colonel, I'm sure. And you're brave to do what you did today. Don't forget that." Greta stopped talking and left the sergeant alone with his thoughts.

"I think we'll all feel safer if you had papers," Oscar explained to Olsen over a light lunch. "So, we will go back into town and meet with someone who can make the arrangements."

Olsen had no choice but to agree, and leave himself in the hands of the Underground contacts. That afternoon, he and Schnitzer drove into Hammelburg and met with a member of the Underground who would not give his name. He took Olsen and Schnitzer into a back area of his store that was set up with a dark room and camera equipment. Within a few hours, Oscar and Olsen were returning back to the vet's home, newly forged papers in hand.

"Good, you're back. Let me have a look." Greta put on her reading glasses and gave the papers a once-over. She nodded in approval and smiled.

"You're now Johann Hoffman. You'll be on medical leave from the army. This has your discharge papers," the veterinarian explained. "Here are the rest of your ID papers. We're now related," Schnitzer remarked. "You'll be my wife's nephew from Stuttgart. You're helping me out with my practice. That's why you're here in case anyone asks, or if we're stopped in the truck. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Olsen replied.

That evening, Olsen joined the couple for supper, and as they drew him out, he discussed his family background. For some reason, the Schnitzers made him feel comfortable. He didn't know if it was their ages or if just being away from other soldiers made him more open, but he found himself able to speak about his experiences this evening, something he hadn't done since opening up to Colonel Hogan. He didn't fully divulge everything that had occurred during his capture and interrogation. He didn't know the couple well enough to burden them with that information. But they enjoyed hearing some of his stories about Düsseldorf during better times.

"You know where your relatives are, Brian? Greta asked.

"We had family all over the country," he replied wistfully. "I don't know how they are. I have cousins not too far from here."

"That area hasn't been bombed. They're probably all right," Schnitzer remarked. "Were some of your cousins around your age?"

Brian knew where this was heading. "Yes, I'm afraid so. They've probably been drafted. We didn't know, last I heard."

"War is waged by the old and fought by the young," Schnitzer stated. "It's a crime and a disgrace."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Olsen's double substituted for him again at roll call that evening, and again the next morning. This time, Schultz only whined once, accepted more bribes and gave Hogan a warning.

"I know you're up to monkey business."

"Do you want to know what, Schultz?" Hogan asked the guard.

"No," he said emphatically. "I see nothing! I know nothing!" Schultz replied. "Wait, Olsen will be back?"

"Yes, Schultz, he'll be back." Hogan started walking the sergeant away from the barracks and in the opposite direction of two prisoners trying to hide dirt in the garden patch near the mess hall. "Just can't say when, right now."

"I don't want you to get into trouble, and I don't want to get into trouble."

"Schultz, have we ever failed you?"

Schultz thought for a moment, said nothing and walked away.

"I think we should make an attempt to go back this morning," Olsen mumbled in between mouthfuls of pastries. Schnitzer and Olsen had been discussing plans over breakfast. Both men were now getting a bit nervous and Olsen did not want to put his new friends in danger.

Schnitzer agreed and began to come up with a plan. "It's getting hot. I'll bring over some lighter weight blankets for the dogs and I'll talk to the guards about making sure the dogs don't get overheated. It's an excuse." He shrugged and then popped up as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

Greta and Olsen waited for Oscar to finish the conversation.

"Well?" His wife asked.

"Good news. The patrols have pulled back. It's definitely settled then. I'll take you back. Aries will send a message to camp to watch out for my truck."

"That's a relief." As much as Olsen had relished a hot bath and a real bed, he was happy to be leaving.

"Colonel, message." Kinch handed Hogan a piece of paper.

The colonel read it and smiled. "Olsen's on his way back with Schnitzer. We'll need to watch for the truck and sneak him in."

A happy and relieved chorus of, "All right!", and "That's great!" resonated throughout the barracks.

"And…" Hogan continued. "The patrols pulled back. We can start to get the six men moved out."

"Corporal Martin will be relieved, sir." Newkirk said to Hogan before he left to head down below.

"So will Schultz," Hogan joked.

Olsen and Schnitzer were ready to leave, but not before the sergeant tried to thank Greta for her hospitality.

"Stay safe, Brian." She gave him a peck on the cheek and a hug. "Wait. You never told us the name of your cousins. The ones that live close by." She passed Olsen a piece of paper and a pencil. He jotted down the information and handed the paper back to her.

"Perhaps we can find something out for you."

Oscar nodded. "We'll take a look."

"I appreciate that," Olsen replied. "Thanks."

Greta watched the truck drive away. She then went back into the house, studied the names and address that Olsen had written down, memorized the information, and then burned the paper.

Schnitzer and Olsen had an uneventful drive to Stalag 13. Just outside the perimeter, the sergeant left the passenger seat and climbed into the back. Schnitzer was stopped at the front gate, but easily talked his way into the compound. He then drove in and stopped right by the dog kennel. The veterinarian chatted with the guards, while Olsen climbed out the back, slipped into the kennel and headed into the tunnel, where he found Hogan and Kinch waiting for him.

"Welcome back, sergeant," Hogan said calmly.

"Glad to be back, sir." Olsen looked at Kinch, who gave him a wink.

"Took quite a chance, making a run for it," Hogan continued.

"Yes, sir." Olsen took out the pistol he had carried with him and handed it to Kinch. "It seemed the right thing to do at the time."

"Don't make a habit of it," Hogan replied. "Go get changed," he added before he disappeared into the interior of the tunnel system.

"He was beside himself when he heard you were missing," Kinch told Olsen as they walked towards the main tunnel. "But he came up with a plan in minutes."

"Plan?" Olsen asked.

"Yeah," Kinch answered. "Grabbed one of the escaped prisoners. Someone about your size. He took your place at three roll calls."

"You're kidding! Schultz didn't notice?"

"Oh, he noticed." Kinch laughed. "A couple of candy bars and fear of being blamed for misplacing a prisoner… Let's just say he was willing to overlook it."

"Hey, look who's back!" Olsen received a warm welcome from the rest of the boys in the barracks when he walked through the door. Lebeau came over with a cup of coffee.

"Thanks for saving our 'you know what'," Lebeau said. "But don't take off like that again."

"Not planning on it." Olsen sat down and took a sip.

Newkirk came over. "So, what is Schnitzer like outside of camp?"

"Actually pretty friendly," Olsen told him. "His wife is real nice and…" he stopped talking as Hogan walked through the door.

"Olsen, my office," the colonel ordered.

The sergeant nervously followed, leaving the rest of the men to wonder if Olsen was in trouble or a hero.

"Sit down," Hogan said as the sergeant entered the room. Olsen sat and watched as Hogan closed the door. "You have your papers?" Hogan asked.

"Yes sir." Olsen fished the fake IDs out of his pocket and handed them over.

Hogan spent a moment studying the documents. "These are good. Better than ours," he admitted. "Show them to Newkirk when we're done."

"Yes sir." Olsen waited.

Hogan turned and propped his leg up on a chair and faced the sergeant. "Olsen, I don't know whether to bust you down to private or give you a commendation." Hogan was expecting an answer and Olsen gave him one.

"I did what I had to, sir. I was the highest ranking man out there. My responsibility was to make sure Newkirk, Lebeau and the other prisoners were safe, sir."

"Go on."

"I made a split-second decision, and, well, it worked out."

"How did you know the patrol wouldn't have found the crevice?"

"It isn't easy to find, sir. I only knew about it because I had gone hiking around the area. There's a bunch of caves there, too. These patrols, Colonel; they're usually made up of draftees from different parts of the country."

"You didn't know that, either," Hogan interrupted.

"No, sir," Olsen admitted. The colonel was neither shouting nor yelling. In fact, he was quite calm and his demeanor made Olsen anxious. For a brief moment, he thought he would have preferred a show of temper. Thinking he had somehow disappointed his commander, he could feel the beginnings of a lump in his throat.

Hogan paused. He pulled out the chair and sat down opposite the sergeant. He thought back to when Olsen first arrived in camp during the winter. The sergeant had been a traumatized shell. And now…

"All right, Olsen. Fill me in on what happened after you left the crevice and how you found Schnitzer's place."

Olsen felt somewhat relieved. He gave Hogan an account of his little adventure, including every detail, no matter how small. His recollection of what he had seen in Hammelburg and his ability to pass as a native began to set the wheels in Hogan's head in motion.

"Told you Olsen would be back, Schultz," Hogan whispered to the sergeant as he concluded his count that evening.

"Yes. I see that." The sergeant was happy. Everything was back to normal, except… "Colonel Hogan. What happened to the other man?"

"What other man, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

"The one who was here, when Olsen was… Never mind."

Hogan grinned that impish grin that drove Schultz crazy. He made his report and left before anything else could happen.

The next day, Olsen and the other engineers in camp continued to work on designing an emergency tunnel entrance in Barracks two. Olsen, in fact, had drawn plans of a mechanism hidden in one of the bunks. The tunnel directly underneath the barracks was in the process of being shored up. All that was left was breaking into the flooring and fixing the bunk. That work had to be completed in small stages, but within a few weeks, the project was completed and the new entrance was christened with a bottle of wine stolen from Klink's collection.

Oscar Schnitzer had received an urgent call from a farmer located outside a small town nestled in between Dusseldorf and Hammelburg. He had passed the name of Olsen's cousins to only his most trusted colleagues in the Underground. Unfortunately, none of them were familiar with the family and no one had a justifiable reason for heading out in that direction. This morning, however, Schnitzer would be within a few kilometers of the location, and as soon as he finished treating the farmer's sick horse, and seeing it was near lunch time, he decided to take a short detour into town. He purposefully passed by the home on his way in, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. On his way out, he parked his truck outside the home and opened the hood. He pretended to fiddle with a hose for a short while, then, wiping his brow, he walked up the path to the house and knocked on the door.

A woman peered through the curtain and cautiously opened the door a crack. Seeing that the stranger at the door was not a member of the Gestapo and not an official, she opened it a bit wider.

"Yes?" She asked hesitantly.

"Pardon me, but my truck overheated and I was hoping that you might be able to give me a bit of water. I'm a veterinarian from Hammelburg. I was visiting Herr Steinmetz nearby, to treat his horse."

"Wait there." The woman, who appeared to be in her late forties, went to the back of the house and returned with a saucepan of water. Not seeing smoke coming out of the truck, she became suspicious. "Your truck looks fine, Doctor..."

"Schnitzer. My name is Oscar Schnitzer."

"Schnitzer… I've heard of you," she said.

"Only good things, I hope," he joked.

Schnitzer took the water over to the truck and poured it in. He then returned the pan. "Danke," he said. "Your home is very well kept, Frau…" he complimented her.

"Eisenberg. Hannah. Thank you," she replied. "My husband takes care of the outside. He's at work," she quickly added.

"My wife wishes I had more time to work on the outside," Schnitzer said as he tried to continue the conversation. "But my usual practice keeps me busy, plus I have some work over at the POW camp near Hammelburg. I provide the dogs. Do you know of it? Stalag 13?" he asked, emphasizing the name of the camp.

"I know it's there." The woman, who was now wondering why the vet was so intent on continuing the conversation, replied. Now nervous, she took the pot and headed for the door.

"Good day," Schnitzer told her. "And thank you. Oh, if you have anyone in service, I wish them well and hope they are safe," he added. He waited for a reaction. Seeing none, he tipped his cap and left, leaving the woman standing at the door, watching as he drove off.

That evening, she told her husband, Kurt, of the strange encounter. "I don't think there was anything wrong with his truck. Do you think he works for the Nazis?" she whispered.

"Why would they send a middle aged veterinarian to spy on us?" he countered. "That would not make sense. Besides, I've heard of him. Look, we mind our business, and our sons are fighting in Africa." He glanced at the pictures on the mantel. "For what, I don't know," he mumbled.

"Shush," his wife admonished him. "Be quiet."

"Don't be worried," he consoled her. "We aren't the only family with relations in America."

The family had not heard from Hannah's cousin, Brian's mother, since Hitler had invaded Poland. She often wondered where Brian was. Hopefully nowhere near her sons.

The next time Schnitzer changed the dogs, he left a message in one of the shepherd's collars. Seeing a signal, LeBeau snuck the dog below, removed the paper, replaced the collar and took the dog back to the kennel. He passed the slip of paper over to Colonel Hogan.

"Schnitzer wants to meet with you outside of camp," he told Olsen. "Any idea why?"

"Me?" The sergeant was surprised. "No, sir." Olsen actually had an idea, but decided to keep it to himself. He was unsure how Hogan would react if he knew Schnitzer had possibly involved civilians.

Hogan assumed that if Schnitzer requested a meeting with one of his men, the vet had a good reason. He gave Olsen permission to go under the wire that evening to rendezvous with Schnitzer, who then met up with the sergeant in his truck. He drove a short distance away from the camp and then spoke.

"I had business near your cousins' town yesterday, Brian. I went by their house, which looks fine, by the way, and had a brief conversation with Hannah."

Olsen tried to keep his excitement bottled up inside. "Did she say anything? Anything about Ernst or Claus?" Olsen asked hopefully.

"No. Unfortunately she was suspicious of me and I had to be careful with the questioning," Oscar explained. "But, she mentioned her husband is working."

"Probably at the same place. He was in accounting," Olsen said.

"That's all I could find out for you. I'm sorry it wasn't more," Oscar turned on the ignition and headed back towards camp. "But, Brian, I have to go out that way again the day after tomorrow to check on the horse. You're welcome to come with if you wish."

Olsen thought long and hard about that offer. His heart told him to go, but his brain won over. "Thanks, sir. It's tempting, but… I can't do anything that could possibly put them in any danger. Plus I can't imagine Colonel Hogan giving me a one day pass to visit relatives," he argued.

"No, I suppose not." Oscar agreed. He handed Olsen some maps. "But if I find anything else, I'll let you know."

Olsen thanked the vet and returned to camp through the tree stump. He decided to tell Hogan some of the truth, but not all, as he made his report.

"When I was at their house, we spoke about our families. I have cousins near Hammelburg, sir, and Schnitzer offered to take me out that way to check on them, when he has a call to make near there."

"What did you tell him?" Hogan asked as he glanced at the maps Oscar had delivered.

"I told him no, sir. I can't involve my cousins, no matter how much I would like to. It would be too dangerous. Besides, I didn't think you would write the pass."

Hogan chuckled. "You're right on that point." He looked up at the sergeant. "Used your head. Shows common sense. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, sir."

Hogan changed subjects. "Tell me, Olsen. How's language training going?"

"Pretty well," he answered. "Newkirk is getting close, but he's not quite ready."

"This offer Schnitzer made… I'm rethinking the proposition."

"Sir?"

"This is voluntary, of course, but I think you should go. Test your acting ability. Your papers. Get a better look at the area. But no contacting the relatives. Maybe go into Hammelburg and pick up some supplies for us. Give us a chance to actually spend some of that money we've printed. You know, I'd like to go," Hogan continued. "But I can't leave for the whole day."

"I think they'd notice if you were gone for that long, sir." Olsen agreed.

"Exactly. Well, you game?"

"Yes, sir." Olsen did not hesitate.

Hogan was not surprised. "Good. We'll get a message out to Schnitzer."


	13. Chapter 13

A few days later, Hogan decided to accompany Olsen out of camp, where they met up with Schnitzer. 

"We'll have him back before evening roll call, Colonel."

"Good. Otherwise your truck will turn into a pumpkin, Schnitzer," Hogan, his eyes twinkling, quipped. Then he turned to Olsen. "Be careful and don't forget those herbs for LeBeau at the greengrocer, or he'll have your head."

"Don't worry, sir. I have the list."

"Let's go, Brian." Schnitzer opened the passenger door.

Hogan watched the truck leave, and then walked back to camp.

"Keep me occupied," he told Kinch, "or I'll go nuts."

"Things can be boring around here when there are no flyers to send off to England," Kinch replied.

"There's got to be more that we can do," Hogan answered. He was tired, and now with a man out, he knew he would not get any rest until Olsen was back safely.

Schnitzer's first stop that morning was his home. It was very early and neither he nor Olsen had eaten breakfast. His wife warmly greeted Olsen like a long lost son, and then ushered the two men into the kitchen and gave them something to eat.

"It must be dangerous for you to be out of camp this long."

"As long as I'm back before roll call tonight, I should be all right, ma'am." Olsen tried not to think what would happen if Klink ordered an extra check in the afternoon. He just assumed Hogan would think of something.

"You know anything about horses?" Schnitzer asked Olsen as they drove out to the farm.

"Only that they're big, sir."

The veterinarian laughed. "This one had colic. Hopefully, she's better. Don't forget your limp," he reminded Olsen as they pulled in.

"This is my wife's nephew, Johann." Schnitzer introduced Olsen to the farmer. "He's helping me while on medical leave. How is the horse?"

The farmer took the two men back to the barn and left them alone with the animal. Olsen stood back and nervously watched as the vet approached the mare. Dogs were one thing, he thought, but the horse was big.

"She looks better," Schnitzer said approvingly as he started his exam. "Here, stroke her here." He put Olsen's hand on the horse's neck. "That will calm her down while I take her temperature."

"You sure that's safe?" Olsen asked. He was surprised to see his hand shaking.

"Of course. Unless you want to take the temperature."

"No, I'll pet the horse."

"Good, you've passed 'how to keep a horse calm'," the vet joked as they washed their hands and got ready to leave a short while later.

"Where to next?" Olsen wondered.

"Another farm."

Although Olsen had spent a lot of time outdoors, he was a city boy, having grown up in Dusseldorf and Manhattan. He wondered if Hogan knew that this little sojourn was going to include animal husbandry. Warily, he followed Schnitzer into another barn. Again, he was introduced as the vet's nephew. This time, the farmer seemed interested and asked a few questions. Olsen readily supplied him with rehearsed answers and then the farmer led them into a stall.

"Aach, she's a beauty!" Schnitzer exclaimed. "Johann, look." He moved aside and gave Olsen a little push.

Olsen caught his breath as he observed a calf, not more than a few days old, nursing from its mother. "Wow," was all he could say.

"Wait there," Schnitzer told him. Olsen watched as the vet gently examined the mother and calf, and after announcing them healthy, accepted payment from the farmer.

"Take care, Oscar," the farmer walked them back to the car. "Good luck with your leg, Johann," he added. "I hope you can get back to your outfit."

"Thank you, sir." Olsen said. He looked at his watch and was surprised to see how early it was. The two still had a few hours left before lunch.

"Now," Schnitzer said, "We go back to Hammelburg." He passed by the road that took him towards the Eisenberg's home.

Olsen looked longingly, but remained silent. He continued to stare out the window until they reached town. Now beginning to feel butterflies in his stomach, the sergeant took a few deep breaths before he left the car.

"You sure you want to do this?" Oscar asked.

"Yes. I can do it. But you shouldn't be seen with me. It's safer that way."

"No, you're my nephew and we have to establish your cover. It would look strange if we weren't together. Don't worry about it."

Their first stop was a hardware store. The tunnel engineers had requested nails, some tools and other supplies. Hogan was also interested in the type of consumer goods available for purchase, as he planned on transmitting any information about shortages to London. Olsen entered and was surprised to find everything he needed. So far, from what he could tell, civilians were not suffering from shortages of food or most consumer goods. He figured the Germans were living off of slave labor and goods stolen from conquered countries. Keeping his opinion to himself, he, along with Schnitzer, approached the clerk and paid for the items with counterfeit money. His first test having gone well, the two headed for the greengrocer to pick up the herbs.

"I'll pay for these," Schnitzer insisted before they walked in. "He's with us," he explained.

"I understand," Olsen replied.

"Oscar," the grocer looked up. "How's business?"

"Same. Yours?"

"Steady. We received a nice batch of onions today."

"We're good. I'm looking for…" Schnitzer looked at Olsen.

"Fennel and saffron?" Olsen handed over the list.

"Fennel I've got, but saffron?" He laughed. "You're joking,"

Olsen shrugged. "I'm just the messenger."

"This is my wife's nephew, Johann. From Stuttgart."

"I see." The grocer wrapped up the fennel, took the vet's money and handed the package over to Olsen. "How long will you be in the area, Johann?"

"Um, for a while, I guess."

The grocer and Schnitzer exchanged a knowing look and then Olsen and Schnitzer left the store.

Olsen now insisted on being alone. His next assignment was to walk around town, observing various locations that Hogan deemed were important. He figured on that taking the rest of the day.

Schnitzer was wary, but he was forced to agree. He had patients to see and more calls to make, so he left Olsen in town and promised to pick him up at five to bring him back to camp. Schnitzer told Olsen that if he had any problems, he was to go back to the greengrocer or leave town immediately and head over to his house.

Olsen went over to the town square, took a seat and began to look around. Downtown Hammelburg had so far been untouched by the war, but the signs of totalitarianism were everywhere. Propaganda posters and pictures of Hitler were posted on the outside of buildings, and Gestapo agents patrolled the streets. Olsen then got up and started to walk. Passing a flower shop he knew to be an underground safe house, he turned a corner and spotted Gestapo headquarters. He took a good look at the building, taking note of entrances, windows and get-away points, then turned a corner. Down the next block a few stores and businesses were vacant and boarded up. Judging by the still visible names on the windows and doors, Olsen assumed they had been forcibly abandoned by their Jewish owners. Where the families had gone, Olsen couldn't fathom. He continued his walk, passing by a school, several churches and apartment buildings. He paused for a moment and then recalled once seeing a hotel. Where was it? Instinct told him to turn left. He spotted the structure several blocks away in that direction.

The streets and sidewalks were now pretty busy with men on business and housewives starting their daily shopping. It was unusual to see, he thought, so many women going about normal activities. A high percentage of English women he had come across, were working or volunteering for the war effort. Many had taken over men's positions. But in Germany, that didn't appear to be the case. He knew Hitler's ideals for now had the women at home, caring for their children and husbands. He wondered how long that would last in a war economy. As he looked closer at the passersby, he realized the housewives' clothing was a bit shabby and that none of them were wearing nylons.

The men in camp sometimes joked about this peculiar obsession that seemed to cross cultural barriers. Colonel Hogan had even requested London send a supply of stockings, which he received, along with medicine and ammunition, and that he kept locked in his office. Olsen knew the colonel kept Helga happy and that she gladly assisted their operation by frequently looking the other way and providing information.

It was now getting close to lunchtime and the sergeant was beginning to get hungry. Faking a limp was also tiring, so he decided to find a place to buy some food. Knowing he would again need to interact with the local population, Olsen gathered up his courage and entered a small market. He ordered a sandwich without incident and walked back to the town square, where he found a place to sit and eat.

He was just finishing, when his sixth sense warned him of trouble. The hair on the back of his neck bristled as he spotted two policemen heading in his direction. He tried to remain calm as his heart began to beat; so fast he was afraid it could be heard.

"Your papers." One of the policemen held his hand out.

"I have them," Olsen replied as he reached into his pocket and handed them over.

"I see you are on a medical discharge?" the officer asked. He handed the papers to his associate.

"Yes, that's correct," Olsen said in as calm a voice as he could muster.

"Why are you in Hammelburg?"

"Assisting my aunt's husband with his practice. He's a veterinarian. Dr. Schnitzer. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I've heard of him. These appear to be in order." The officer handed the ID back to Olsen and the two left without saying a word. It took another several minutes for the sergeant's heart rate to slow down. The rest of the afternoon was thankfully uneventful, and he and Schnitzer met at the prearranged spot at 5 pm and discussed the day's events.

"I thought I was going to have a heart attack, right there." Olsen recounted his interaction with the police.

"But, you didn't," Oscar joked. "It's good you got that unpleasant business over so soon. It was bound to happen sooner or later and the papers passed. That's good!"

"How do you stand it?" Olsen wondered out loud.

"Stand what?"

"Back home, in England even, you just don't get stopped and asked for papers. Civilians, I mean. We don't even have papers in the states."

"Unfortunately," Oscar said, "It's something you get used to."

"Doesn't make it right," Olsen said softly.

"No, it doesn't." Oscar stopped the truck. "Tell Colonel Hogan, if he needs you to go outside again, to let me know."

"Thanks, I will." Olsen and Schnitzer shook hands. The vet watched until he saw Olsen disappear into the woods.

Hogan looked up from his mug of coffee, as the bunk entrance opened. LeBeau stuck his head through.

"Colonel, Olsen's on his way back. We just spotted him."

"Good." Hogan let out a sigh of relief. He looked at his watch, then headed down below to get the sergeant's report.

"No one questioned the currency." He recounted the shopping expedition. His purchases were set out on the table.

"That's great," Hogan said as he and Newkirk were checking out the supplies.

"I did have one scare, sir. Two policemen came up to where I was sitting and took a look at my papers."

"Obviously that went okay, seein' as you're 'ere." Newkirk noted.

"They seemed satisfied," Olsen said. "One more thing. We couldn't get the saffron that LeBeau asked for. The guy at the market said, and I quote: 'saffron, you must be joking.'"

Hogan laughed. "That's between you and our chef. Anything else?"

Olsen described the people, the layout of the town, the atmosphere, and then gave detailed descriptions of Gestapo headquarters, the hotels and approximately how many Gestapo agents were on the streets. "That's it. Oh, and I helped Schnitzer with a horse and saw a new-born calf."

Hogan raised his eyebrows. "Planning a new career?"

"No, sir! Not while I'm here, anyway."

"Good job, today, Olsen."

"Thank you, sir."

Although being in a prison camp was not fun; the colonel's praise made Olsen's day. Morale amongst the prisoners continued to improve as the colonel's clandestine operations grew and became even more dangerous. They all felt that they were fighting their own little war in their own little corner of Germany.


	14. Chapter 14

As late summer headed into fall, changes came to Stalag 13. Hogan was itching to gather more intelligence and sent Olsen out on more fact - finding expeditions. On his third trip out of camp, the sergeant was accompanied by Newkirk, who, like Olsen before him, received an ID and set of papers. The two men gathered information on bridges, railroad tracks and whatever industrial sites they came across in between the camp and the outskirts of town. This information was then passed on to London. On the fourth trip, the Colonel joined Olsen for a few hours; just enough time to get a quick tour of the town and return before he was missed. Fliers and a few escaped prisoners from other camps were processed and additional underground contacts were made.

In the middle of September, a deluge that lasted five days turned the camp and the surrounding woods into a sea of mud. Operations were put on hold as every available prisoner worked in shifts to prevent the tunnels from collapsing. Priority was given to the radio room, and somehow extra wood was found and used to shore up the area.

Hogan was undaunted. "Make a list of what we need," he ordered, "To pass inspection."

Fortunately, there was no labor shortage. Somehow, the colonel was able to con Klink into providing planks of wood for roof repairs that the prisoners volunteered to do themselves.

On the sixth day, the weather cleared just enough for Lebeau and Newkirk to sneak under the wire to retrieve a package of supplies scheduled to be dropped by parachute. They both spotted the small plane, but as the pilot reached over to drop the box, a barrage of antiaircraft fire hit the plane's tail. The two prisoners watched as the plane spun out of control.

"'Ang on. Looks like 'e got out." Newkirk pointed at the speck falling out of the airplane. The parachute opened and both men then headed towards the landing spot.

By the time Lebeau, Newkirk and the pilot headed back to camp, the rain had started up again. The three snuck under the wire, and showed up in Barracks two, soaking wet and full of mud.

"Holy cow," Goldman exclaimed. "You're a mess," he told Newkirk as he threw him a towel.

"Bloody 'ell out there. 'Ere mate," He shoved the pilot forward, "Someone get the captain 'ere a towel."

"What happened?" Hogan had heard the commotion and entered the common room. Although it was dark, he easily spotted the extra man.

"Captain Silverman, sir. I took some flak and spun out."

"We retrieved the packages, Colonel." Lebeau pointed to the boxes. "And buried the chute."

"You hurt?" Hogan gave the captain a onceover.

"No, sir. Just filthy."

"Good. Someone get him some coffee."

A mug magically appeared. "Kinch, notify London that Silverman is safe, but come right back up." Hogan now had a problem. A sub pick up could be days away. The weather was a mess and the tunnels were still too unstable at the moment to use as a hiding place. "We're in a bit of a pickle." Hogan declared to no one in particular as he tried to figure out how to hide the extra man. "I suppose you can hide in my office during roll call, for now," Hogan decided.

"How long do think I'll be stuck here, sir?" The captain had dried himself off and was now sitting on Hogan's lower bunk.

"Depends on the weather and how soon we can get a pickup time from the sub. Meanwhile," he continued, "You'll have to try and stay out of the way during roll call, and blend in the rest of the time. Which reminds me," Hogan opened the door, "We need an enlisted man's uniform for the captain. I'm the only officer," Hogan explained.

Olsen, carrying a uniform, appeared at Hogan's side. "Colonel? I can leave for a while, if you get my drift."

"You can just sneak in and out of camp that easily?" The captain was a bit confused. He thought he was dropping supplies to a unit of commandos and was now surprised to find himself sheltered in, of all things, a POW camp. But, he had learned to go with the flow and was intrigued by the complexities of the operation.

"Basically, yes." Hogan went into a bit more detail. "You already know the tunnel system is temporarily out of commission due to the rain. But we have other ways. We can sneak in and out through the fence. Sometimes we hitch rides. It varies." Hogan was considering Olsen's offer. Unfortunately, it was now too late and too stormy to send the sergeant out. He decided to hide Silverman for one day and then take it from there.

Another day and evening of rain, short tempers, bed counts and the captain being holed up in Hogan's office, plus a longer than usual wait for pickup, convinced the colonel to go with Olsen's offer. For the second time, Olsen and a downed flyer exchanged places. The sergeant left camp and set off for Schnitzer's home, while Silverman took Olsen's spot during that morning's roll call.

"The tunnel system is still a bit unstable." Olsen brought Greta and Oscar up to date on the conditions in camp. "Kinch runs down to use the radio, but only for emergencies," he emphasized. "And even that's a risk. But we're working on it," he added.

"How soon do think it will be before it's safe?" Oscar knew he would be in for more smuggling of personnel if the emergency entrance was out of commission. He would need an excuse to change the dogs early, he supposed.

"Less than a week, I think. We are shoring it up in stages." Olsen explained. "But," he said confidently, "I think this time it will hold better. We have more supplies and everyone is working almost around the clock."

"If I know Colonel Hogan, he'll extend the tunnel to the Belgian border." Schnitzer sometimes thought the colonel's plans were a bit grandiose.

Both Greta and Olsen laughed. A tapping at the back door interrupted the conversation. Olsen immediately quieted down and looked at the older couple.

"Brian, go downstairs." Greta warned.

Although the sergeant had papers, the couple was not expecting any visitors. Clients would have rung the bell. Olsen immediately headed for the basement, while Oscar opened the back door.

"Heidi!" It was his niece. "What are you doing out here in this weather?" His niece looked distraught and her aunt and uncle quickly ushered her into the living room.

Heidi, a blond, pretty woman in her mid-twenties, taught elementary school in Hammelburg. She shared an apartment in town with her cousin, Helga, the civilian secretary at Stalag 13. Both girls were sympathetic to the Underground movement. Helga provided Colonel Hogan and his men with information and occasional diversions, while Heidi sometimes passed messages back and forth.

Cell members were not, for security reasons, always aware of all operations being conducted in the area, and Heidi was now forced to divulge secret information to her aunt and uncle.

Greta had taken her wet coat and hung it up to dry. She put some water on the stove to boil and returned to the living room. "So Heidi, what's wrong?" She asked sympathetically.

"I didn't want to get you involved, but I'm hoping you might be able to help. I'll come right out and say it. I had a student a few years ago," she began wringing her hands. "He and his family; they're being hidden."

"Jewish?" Oscar asked.

Heidi nodded her head. "I won't tell you who has been helping to hide them. Another colleague. But, their hiding place is no longer secure. The rain; it's been flooding the area and they had to move. But, now it's too dangerous, Uncle Oscar. If the Gestapo..."

"They will be shot or taken away and so will the people hiding them."

"Yes."

"Heidi, this is very dangerous. How did you even get involved?" Greta stood up to check on the water.

"I couldn't not get involved. They're just people like you and me… And the children. Too many people… They don't care."

"I know. I know," Oscar replied worriedly. "Let me think."

Heidi followed Greta into the kitchen and froze. "Someone here?" Heidi had noticed an extra mug, plate and half- eaten meal on the table.

After slipping into the hiding place, Olsen stayed as still and quiet as he could, while trying to gauge from the voices upstairs what was occurring. As long as there was talking, he presumed, things were okay. From the tone of the voices, it did not appear that police were in the house. Assuming the visitor was a neighbor, he made himself comfortable and stayed put.

Greta did not immediately answer her niece. She was wondering if she should call for Olsen, when Heidi repeated the question. "Someone is here? Who? Downstairs?"

Oscar then came into the kitchen and exchanged a glance with his wife. "I think it's all right, Greta. He can come up. I'll fetch him. "

"Who is it?" Heidi asked, sure that if he was hidden in the basement, he was on their side.

Olsen followed Oscar up the stairs, where he was introduced.

"Brian, this is my niece. Heidi, this is Brian Olsen."

"Nice to meet you, fraulein."

Surprised to hear flawless German, considering his name, she asked, "Are you American?"

"Brian is a POW at Stalag 13. He occasionally spends time with us." Oscar explained.

Heidi did not ask for further clarification. "I see," she said. "So, Brian. You escaped and are trying to get home?"

"Well, not exactly," he answered, unsure of what to reveal.

"Why don't we all go into the living room?" Greta broke in. "I'll bring out some hot tea."

An uncomfortable silence followed for a few moments. Heidi tried to recall if her Cousin Helga ever mentioned a prisoner named Brian Olsen. And what did he mean by not exactly?

"Now, Oscar," Greta asked as she served the tea. "What can we do help these people?"

"Who needs help?" Brian, curious, asked.

"Is it safe to talk about this?" Heidi turned to Olsen. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

"It's all right, no need to apologize." This was the closest Olsen had been to a younger woman in months and he was relishing the experience. He smiled and Heidi smiled back.

"It's all right. He can hear. In fact, he may be able to help." Oscar reassured his niece and then briefly explained the situation to the sergeant.

"We've heard rumors of these things happening." Olsen informed the family, "But couldn't believe it. You know, the Gestapo will be looking for the pilot of the downed plane. That makes the situation even more dangerous."

"Do you think Colonel Hogan would be willing to help?" Greta asked.

"I can't speak for him. Right now, we can't hide anyone safely. But it's worth asking," Olsen added.

"Colonel Hogan?" Heidi asked. "What could he do?"

Oscar spoke directly to his niece. "Heidi, there's something you need to know about Stalag 13," he said, and proceeded to fill her in on the camp's operation.

"Oh my god." Heidi was shocked and now scared. "I knew you two were involved, but not how much." She glanced over at Olsen, who had remained quiet. "And you, Brian, you are in tremendous danger, if you're caught…"

"I try not to think about it," he said. "It's really your uncle that I'm worried about."

"We chose sides long before you got here. So," Oscar stood up. "I think we need to speak with Colonel Hogan personally about this and see what we can do. Since the radio is not being constantly monitored, I suppose I should go to the camp."

"Schnitzer, you're early." A soaked Schultz struck up a conversation with the dog handler, who had stopped by the kennel, ostensibly to change one of the dogs. Schnitzer pulled a shepherd out of the kennel and switched it with one in the truck. The dog growled at the sergeant, who nervously backed away, bumping into LeBeau who had shown up behind him.

Schultz, who had seen enough rain and mud and was sick of marching back and forth, turned around and yelled at the Frenchman. Pretending to be hurt, LeBeau threatened to cut off his culinary bribes, while Newkirk, seeing that Schnitzer was free, took a chance and quickly met up with the vet.

"Problem?" Newkirk asked. Plans had been made to notify the Underground by radio when Olsen needed to return.

"Possibly. Can Colonel Hogan get out for a meeting?" Schnitzer handed the corporal a note.

"'Ang on." Newkirk took the note back to the barracks and handed it to the colonel. It contained instructions for a pickup. Newkirk returned to the kennel. "'E'll be there."

Lebeau suddenly patted Schultz's stomach. "I forgive you. When the weather clears, I'll make strudel, if you get the ingredients." Schultz agreed and hustled the corporal back to the barracks.

That night, Hogan left the camp and met Oscar at the pickup point.

"We're going back to my house, Colonel. I don't want to get into any details now, but my niece showed up today and, well, there's a problem…" Schnitzer stopped talking for a moment to swerve around a puddle.

Hogan grabbed onto the door handle to keep his balance. "You know we're limited to what we can do right now. The tunnel system isn't secure."

"Olsen explained the situation, Colonel." Schnitzer cursed as a front tire hit another puddle, sending a wall of dirty water careening onto the front of the truck.

"Your government should do something about those potholes," Hogan remarked with a straight face.

"I'll take it up with the town council next time…" Bang, thump! The truck came to a screeching halt. Both men looked towards the heavens as a sign of exasperation, and then wordlessly exited into the rain.

"Figures." Hogan checked the front passenger tire. "Flat. Just when I get a night out," he complained.

Oscar removed the tools from the back.

"Hand me a wrench." Hogan began to change the tire; stopping every so often to wipe the rain out of his eyes.

"What will we do in the meantime, if you rescue more fliers?" Oscar rolled the spare over to the now soaked colonel.

"Improvise," Hogan said. "And we'll have to use the Underground if necessary to hide them. But, we've been lucky. The weather has postponed the raids. Prison breakouts as well, I guess." He stood up. The civilian clothes he had put on before leaving camp were now soaked and muddied. "Well, this isn't comfortable," he muttered in English.

"That's why I like you, Robert. Not afraid to get your hands dirty." Schnitzer slapped the colonel on the back and laughed.

"You're a real wit." Hogan laughed as well.

"A wit?"

"Dry sense of humor."

"Dry." Schnitzer groaned at the pun. "Come on." Schnitzer opened the door and climbed back into the truck. "You can dry up at the house."

Olsen, Greta, and Heidi were anxiously awaiting the colonel's arrival and were at the door when the two walked in.

"Flat tire," Oscar grumbled as he headed for the kitchen.

Hogan just stood there. The water was dripping off of his clothes and his shoes squeaked if he moved.

"Sorry about the mess, Mrs. Schnitzer. Oh, hi. I'm Colonel Hogan." He held out his hand, and then seeing that it was filthy, quickly withdrew it.

Greta smiled and then took charge. "Brian, take him upstairs. Show him where to clean up. Heidi, let's get some towels and clean up the floor."

Olsen stepped forward. "Evening, sir."

"Nice digs, sergeant." Hogan followed Olsen up the stairs and into the bathroom where he washed his hands and feet.

"I do feel guilty at times, sir."

"No you don't." Hogan removed his shirt and wrung it out over the sink. His undershirt, too, was soaked. Sighing, he lifted it over his head and wrung it out as well. Not having any other option, he left his pants on.

Oscar, who had changed, showed up at the door. "We'll need to get you some clothes."

"Good thing it's not your uniform, sir." Olsen was trying to look at the bright side.

"The boy's got a point. Here. Try these." Oscar handed Hogan an outfit. "We'll try and dry out the shoes by the fire before you leave."

"We need to get down to business," Hogan reminded the veterinarian as he changed.

The five now sat in the living room in front of the fireplace.

"So, Heidi. What is the emergency?"

"Colonel Hogan, my uncle explained what's been going on at Stalag 13. Until tonight, I had no idea. I only thought he had contacts with the Underground."

"It was my idea to ask for your help, Colonel." Oscar wanted to make that clear.

"It's okay. What's been going on?" Hogan looked directly at the girl. He had noticed that Olsen was being uncharacteristically quiet, and that the sergeant's attention was also focused on Schnitzer's niece.

"There's a family, one I have known for some time. They have been hiding out with the help of another teacher. I teach elementary school, Colonel. One of the children was a student of mine. They can't stay there anymore. And we don't know where else they could go."

"It's a Jewish family, sir." Olsen explained.

"I see." Hogan sat back in the chair. "How long have they been in hiding?" he asked.

"A few years. They received orders that they were to be relocated and that's when this other person took them in. Only a few people know. It's been very hard and dangerous, you see. I don't wish to go into all the details, but Colonel, because of the rain and flooding, they have to move quickly."

Hogan now had a problem. At this point, he had never hidden or transported civilians. He wasn't confident that the Underground contacts along the escape route would handle Jewish refugees, and he had no idea if command in London would allow them entry into England. He knew this had been an ongoing problem since the thirties. But, he couldn't turn his back on innocent civilians; particularly children. But, he also couldn't let his operation be suddenly overwhelmed, either. How many more would come out of the woodwork? The other serious issue was logistics. Where would he hide them? First things first.

"How many?"

"Four," Heidi answered. "The parents and two children."

"Where are they now?"

"Still at this person's home. But now they're out in the open. It's too dangerous."

Hogan made a decision; if he had to, he would have them crowd into the radio area of the tunnel. At the moment, that was the safest place. He would have to somehow sneak them into camp and then into his barracks. Or enter through the tree stump and risk a quick walk through the tunnel. That seemed the best option. Sneaking them into camp would be dangerous, especially since Oscar had just been there.

"Ironic," Hogan said.

"What, sir?"

"Sometimes it's easier getting out of the camp, than getting back in."

"True," Olsen agreed.

"We'll take them," Hogan told Heidi.

"Oh, thank you, Colonel!"

"As soon as we can get a sub pick up, we'll send them out with Silverman."

"What will London say, sir?" Olsen was apprehensive about the command center's reaction when the family walked off the sub.

"The sub will assume they've been cleared. Once they dock, they'll have no choice but to take them ashore."

"What will happen then, Colonel? I hate to say this, but your government and Britain's, as well, have not been too helpful in the past regarding accepting Jewish refugees."

"You're right, Oscar." Hogan got up off the chair and went over to the fireplace to check on his shoes, which were still wet. "Look, once they're in the sub, I'll contact London and give them a heads up. See if they can arrange for a welfare organization to assist these people once they land. That's the best I can offer."

"That's more than we hoped for, Colonel. Thank you." Heidi was truly grateful.

"That's the easy part, Colonel Hogan. How do we get them away from the house, and safely into the camp?" Oscar reminded him.

"Right. Olsen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"We're going to have to bring them in tomorrow night. Through the emergency entrance."

"The Gestapo and police are out looking for that pilot, sir."

"Neighbors also spy on one another, Colonel. Some people would not hesitate to turn them in, and then their protectors in, as well," Heidi said.

"We need to get them out of there tonight, then."

"The barn, sir?"

"No, Olsen. Too easy to check." Hogan snapped his fingers. "Olsen, do you think that cave is still usable?"

"It may be a bit wet, but I don't think it's totally flooded."

"Cave?" Heidi asked.

"A few kilometers from here, there's a small cave and some rock crevices. I hid there once," Olsen said. "It's not easy to find."

Hogan looked at his watch. "Olsen, you have to go with Heidi and lead these people to the cave. I can't go with. I'll never make it back in time. Heidi, you'll need to bring some food and water just for tomorrow. Olsen, you'll stay with them and, as soon as it's dark, I'll send someone out to the cave to meet you. Then the two of you will bring the family back to the emergency tunnel entrance."

"Got it, sir."

"This is very dangerous."

"I know, sir."

"I can pack some food for you." Greta vanished into the kitchen.

"Schnitzer, I'll deal with the wet shoes." Hogan headed for the fireplace.

"All right. I'll drive you back."

"Olsen," Hogan walked over to the sergeant, who was already retrieving his gun. "Be careful."


	15. Chapter 15

The Weiss family, like many others, had refused to believe how far the Nazis would take their persecution until it was too late. They were of modest means and were unable to bribe their way out of Germany, nor did they have any relatives in the British Empire or the States that could help them get to safety. They were caught in the web; first losing their jobs, their home, then forcibly moved and ordered to report for deportation. Ugly and frightening rumors, plus a close friendship with several Gentiles, convinced them to ignore the notice and accept help. For almost a year now, they had been hiding in a false basement located in a teacher's home in Hammelburg. Kurt was a widower in his 50's. He was Heidi's friend and colleague, and the two of them plus a few other close friends provided the family with food, clothing, a few books, toys and lesson plans for the two children; a boy of nine and a girl of seven.

The recent rain had caused severe damage to their hiding place and the family was now nervously waiting for Heidi's return in the main floor of the small home. The two children were asleep on some blankets they had arranged on the floor while the three adults, Eva and Gunther Weiss and Kurt, nervously waited for Heidi to return.

"What if she can't find another place for us to go, Gunther?" Eva was starting to panic.

"Be optimistic." Kurt opened the curtains and glanced out. "She seemed sure she would find help." Seeing no sign, he closed the curtain and turned around. "Don't worry; we will figure something out. For now, you can stay here."

"No." Gunther interrupted. "It's too dangerous."

"You'll have to stay in the main house, until we get the place cleaned up. It's settled," Kurt insisted.

Everyone froze as they heard a tapping at the back door.

"It's Heidi." Kurt walked over to the door and opened it a notch. Olsen, standing behind Heidi, followed her into the home. The three eyed him suspiciously.

Heidi introduced the stranger. "Kurt, Eva, Gunther, this is Sergeant Olsen. He's going to help us."

Olsen stepped forward. "I work with the Underground. We have to get you out of here. We have a hiding place for tonight and tomorrow; then we're moving to a safer location."

Hogan slipped back into camp around midnight and took a quick survey of the tunnel repairs. The radio room was, he was told, safe, but the tunnel between the emergency entrance and that area was still not stable.

"Divert all the men to that area for now. We've having company. It needs to be secure by tomorrow night." Hogan headed up to bed, trying to figure out the best way to tell London they were transporting civilians.

"Bring blankets and something you can put on the ground." Heidi was helping Eva gather up supplies. "The cave may be wet."

Gunther was wary of hiding in a cave until dark and then going who knows where. He confronted Olsen. "Where are we going after we leave the cave?"

"I can't tell you right now. I'm sorry." Olsen glanced down at the two sleeping children. A flash of memory, dimmed but not forgotten, hit the sergeant as he waited for the parents to gather their belongings. Grabbing the edge of a table, he steadied himself, and took a few deep breaths.

"Brian, are you all right?" Heidi, concern evident in her voice, asked.

"I'll be fine," he quickly answered. "Are we ready?"

Heidi and Olsen waited for Eva and Gunther to rouse the two children. Not surprisingly, the two youngsters obediently gathered up their blankets and, without argument, followed their parents to the door.

"They're used to moving quickly," Heidi whispered to the sergeant.

They've lost their childhood. Olsen thought.

"Thank you for everything. We can't repay you." Eva and Gunther said their good-byes to their protector.

"Be safe," Kurt said as he gave everyone in the family a quick hug.

"Stay together and be quiet," Olsen told the group as they headed out. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and then to a fine mist that caused the wet fall leaves to glisten in the moonlight. The four refugees didn't question; they just plodded along with a sense of resignation. The father, Gunther, carried his daughter, while Heidi, Eva and the nine-year-old held on to the supplies that would see them through the next day. Olsen, his gun drawn, went on ahead of the group. After about a half an hour, the six arrived at their destination. Olsen stopped the group, checked the interior and then came out.

"It's clear. Go on in." Using his flashlight, he led them into the cave and around a bend, which left the group fairly well hidden. The family started to set up the site, spreading newspapers and blankets on the ground to ward off the dampness.

"How long do you expect us to be here?" Gunther asked.

"Most of tomorrow, I'm afraid," Olsen replied. "It's too dangerous to move during the day. Some other men will come after dark. They'll escort you to the next location."

The rest of the night passed quietly. Olsen and Gunther took turns patrolling near the entrance. As the sun rose, the six ate the sandwiches Greta Schnitzer had made, and prepared themselves for the boring and frightening wait for dark, so they could make their next move in their journey.

"Do you know any cowboys?" Seven year old Hannah was the first child to find the courage to talk with the tall American.

Olsen grinned. "No, I've never seen a real cowboy. Only ones in the movies. I lived in the city."

"We've never been to the movies." Hannah kicked the dirt. "Is it a big city?"

"Really big. Millions of people. Tall buildings. Subways and trains."

"What's a subway?" Albert, who was now showing some interest, walked over.

Olsen told him.

"How tall are the buildings?" Albert asked. "There's a building in Hammelburg with six stories and an elevator. I've been there," he said proudly.

"Well, Albert. The Empire State Building has over 100 floors."

The children tried to digest that tidbit of information.

Hannah giggled. "You're teasing!"

"No. it's true." Her father came over and tousled her hair.

"I'd like to see that," Albert announced. "And a movie star."

"And a cowboy," Hannah added.

"I hope you will some day." Olsen glanced at Heidi.

"Come children, why don't we work on your lessons?" Eva and Gunther hustled them further into the cave.

Several hours later, Olsen, who had stayed near the entrance, heard noises.

"Heidi!"

"What is it?"

"Go back and tell them to be absolutely quiet. There may be a patrol coming." Heidi did as he ordered, then hurried back with a blanket and some food. She placed it right inside the entrance.

"What's that for?"

"In case they come too close, Brian. We're a couple out on a Saturday outing."

"Gotcha." Looking at his gun, Olsen realized getting caught with a weapon was suicide. He hid it behind some rocks; then the two of them waited.

"Any sign of a chute, blood, or supplies over there?" The patrol leader questioned his men who were checking over a small glen.

"No. Nothing."

"Let's keep moving."

Olsen and Heidi could now hear the voices.

"They're looking for the guy that was shot down," Olsen explained.

Heidi thought fast. "Get down on the blanket." The two quickly moved and waited for the patrol to go in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, they got closer and closer.

"Let's check out this cave," the patrol leader ordered.

Olsen quickly leaned over and, to Heidi's surprise, kissed her. They were still locked in an embrace, when several German soldiers turned the corner and came across the two near the front entrance.

"Ahem. You two. Get up," the leader ordered.

Pretending to be startled, Heidi and Olsen stood up.

"I'm sorry, we didn't hear you... We were having an outing."

"Out here, fraulein? In this weather?" The lieutenant peered in and took note of the blanket, thermos and food. The tableau looked like a picnic. "Who are you? Let me see your papers," he demanded.

They handed over their papers.

"Again, what are you doing out here in this weather?"

"We don't want our families to know we are seeing each other," Heidi explained. "You see, we are sort of related."

"Well, not really," Olsen chimed in. "Her uncle is married to my aunt, so technically, we're cousins, but not by blood," he added quickly.

"It's a bit awkward," Heidi said.

The lieutenant looked at Olsen "I see you are on a medical furlough."

"Yes, sir."

"You two should leave," the lieutenant said. "There was a plane shot down near here and we are looking for the pilot."

Heidi looked at Olsen. "Johann, that could be dangerous."

"It's all right." Olsen patted her hand. "We'll pack up soon," he told the lieutenant. "If we see the pilot, we'll notify the police."

The lieutenant seemed satisfied. "All right, men, let's head out."

Heidi and Olsen watched silently for several minutes until the patrol was out of sight. "Oh, my god." Heidi was shaking.

Olsen retrieved his gun and then returned. "Sorry about the ..."

"No, it's okay." She smiled. "It worked. And it wasn't unpleasant. I'll go tell the Weiss's the patrol is gone."

They found the family huddled together by a wall further back in the cave.

"They're gone," Olsen told them. "They were looking for a pilot." He looked at the surroundings. It was chilly and water was dripping down the walls. The tunnels under Stalag 13 were currently not much better.

"How much longer?" Gunther asked.

Olsen looked at his watch. "I don't know. We have to wait until sometime after dark." The sergeant was concerned about Heidi. There was no point in her getting caught in case of a problem. "Heidi, you should go home while it's still light out," he said.

"No, I'm staying with you," she insisted. "I made my decision," she said firmly, when Olsen protested. "Albert, Hannah, would you like to play a game?" She headed towards the children and their mother.

"Well, we just wait." Gunther looked at Olsen.

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid so." The time literally crawled for the Jewish refugees hiding in the cave. Olsen and Heidi, not wanting to divulge too much to the family, had to monitor their conversation. The children were beginning to shiver and their curiosity and interest in the American was wearing off. Occasionally, Olsen would lead Gunther and Albert out into the woods and quickly back again and do the same for Hannah and the two women. It was an uncomfortable situation for everyone, but the Weiss's did not complain. They had long ago become resigned to living in uncomfortable and tense conditions and this was just another way station.

Towards nightfall, the family was finishing what was left of the food, while Heidi and Olsen headed for the mouth of the cave where it was safe to talk.

"How long have you been a prisoner?"

"Since early last winter," Olsen replied.

"That's a long time."

"Not really," he said. "There are Brits and French guys that have been in the camp since 1940."

"I never had a chance to find out how you spoke such fluent German."

"My mother's side," Olsen responded. He thought for a moment; then continued. "I grew up in Dusseldorf. My father was a diplomat, then a college professor. My mother and her parents moved to New York before I was born. That's where she met my father, but I still have relatives in Germany, some near here," he said wistfully. "My mother and sister went back to New York in 1934; my dad and I left a year later." Olsen took a breath. "I joined the RAF."

"Do you know if your relatives are safe?"

"Um..." Olsen was about to answer when he heard a noise. "Get back into the cave."

Heidi backed up, while Olsen pulled out his gun and flattened himself against the wall. He relaxed when he spotted Newkirk and Lebeau heading towards him.

"Stalag 13 taxi at your service," Newkirk joked.

"Good to see it's you. We've already had to shake off a patrol," Olsen said. "Come on in."

Heidi, who had gone back with the family, stood up when she spotted Olsen and the two other men.

"This is Heidi Schnitzer, Oscar's niece."

"Fraulein." Newkirk and Lebeau stared at the woman, who smiled back at the two prisoners. Olsen continued his introductions.

"These are the Weiss's. Eva, Gunther, and this is Albert and Hannah."

Newkirk knelt down. "Charmed," he said in German. "What's this?" He reached behind Hannah's ear and pulled out a coin. The girl giggled.

Olsen explained what was to happen next. "My buddies here will take you to your next stop. I have to clear up the cave and take Heidi back home."

"I can manage," she protested.

"No. I won't let you walk all that way at night. I'll take you back."

"Colonel Hogan wants you to come back as soon as possible," Lebeau said in English. Olsen nodded.

"Come on, children." Eva and Gunther began to gather the children and the few belongings they could carry, and willingly let themselves be turned over to strangers. Heidi and Olsen watched the group leave.

"So," Olsen said. "Clean up in here; then we are off to Hammelburg." He headed into the cave and bundled the extra blankets and containers into a sack. "No, don't go that way." He stopped Heidi. "We need to avoid patrols. Sorry, but we have to take a roundabout way."

"Okay." Heidi stepped aside. "You lead."

The two stayed off the main road, crossing farmland, and traipsing through the woods, until they reached the outskirts of town. On the way, they continued the conversation they had started outside the cave entrance. At first, Olsen was hesitant to discuss his family, but Heidi was patient and, bit by bit, information came pouring out, but only to a point. He could not bring himself to reveal how his capture had started.

They were nearly to Heidi's apartment building, when she asked about Colonel Hogan. "Was he sent here to start this operation? It seems so unbelievable."

"No," Olsen replied. "Everything just fell into place. It sort of happened by accident, I guess."

"He seems like a good man," Heidi observed.

Olsen laughed. "He comes up with the wildest ideas, but somehow they work. We're all loyal."

"You've become a family," Heidi noted.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that." Olsen quieted down and started looking at the ground.

Sensing the sergeant had revealed enough, Heidi stopped talking for a moment. "Turn down here and the building is on the next corner," she said.

After checking the area, Olsen walked her to the front. "I have to head back to camp. Will you be able to carry this stuff upstairs?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Thanks for walking me back."

"Be careful." Olsen, now suddenly shy, became tongue-tied.

"You too, Brian. Will I see you again?" she quickly asked.

"Maybe. I don't know." He then surprised himself by leaving the teacher with a peck on the cheek and disappearing into the night.

Newkirk, Lebeau and the Weiss family arrived safely at the tree stump. The Weiss's, seeing the wire and searchlights, hesitated.

"What is this?" Gunther demanded.

"A POW camp." Newkirk tried to reassure them. "We're all going underneath. It's safe. Please follow Lebeau."

The family had no choice but to trust him and followed. Hogan and Kinch were waiting in the radio room. The area around there had been set up as a temporary shelter for the family. The prisoners had scrounged up blankets, pillows, cots and other supplies and did their best to make the shelter comfortable. Hogan stepped forward.

"I'm Colonel Hogan. This is Sergeant Kinchloe." The children stared at Kinch. "We'll be hiding you all down here for a few days, and then you'll be handed off to the Underground. They'll take you to the coast and a submarine will take you to England."

"Thank you for your help." Gunther looked around. "This is all a bit confusing."

"I know." Hogan walked over to the children and knelt down to their eye level. "And you two would be…?"

Albert, who was momentarily mesmerized by Hogan's wings, spoke up. "I'm Albert, and this is Hannah."

"It's nice to meet you. You'll be our guests, but we do have some rules." Hogan stood up. "Sergeant Kinchloe will explain them while he gives you a tour." He winked at Eva and Gunther. "Then, since I'm sure you are all tired, you can get some rest." While Kinch took the family aside, Hogan approached Lebeau and Newkirk. "Where's Olsen?"

"Taking Heidi home. He said he would drop her off and come right back," Lebeau said.

"Okay. Any problems?"

"No, sir."

"About time something went right." Hogan grinned as he went up the ladder.

As Olsen was making his way back to camp, only one thought was on his mind. Heidi. The entire day, although uncomfortable, had somehow flown by. Even the scare with the patrol didn't bother the sergeant. He smiled as he thought back to his quick thinking and the surprise kiss. A kiss that had been reciprocated. He crept up to the tree stump and climbed down.

"Hey, " Kinch said. "You can sleep down here tonight. We'll get you for roll call tomorrow morning. Silverman will come down here."

"Sounds good." Olsen headed for the cot near the radio. "The family settled in?" he whispered.

"All set." Kinch headed for the ladder. "Sounds like you had an interesting experience."

"Definitely. But I've seen enough of that cave, that's for sure."


	16. Chapter 16

"Well, where have you been?" Helga admonished her cousin as soon as Heidi walked through the door of the apartment the two shared in Hammelburg. "You can't disappear like that. Not now. I called Uncle Oscar, but he wouldn't say anything."

"Shush," Heidi quieted her cousin. "I had something to take care of. And it took longer than I thought." She walked into the living area and put down the bundle she had brought back from the cave. "Please don't ask me what I was doing."

Helga looked into her cousin's eyes. Heidi was dead serious. "I won't." The prison secretary had her own secrets to hide. She was already fraternizing with Colonel Hogan and some of his men, and often overlooked their shenanigans. She also supplied them with records and files. Although she felt that the Kommandant was not a bad man, she hated what he represented and wanted the war over with, as soon as possible. She sensed that her uncle was somehow involved in helping Colonel Hogan out with clandestine activities, and now it seemed like her entire family was involved. If my parents only knew… She snapped herself back to reality. "Call Uncle Oscar, Heidi. Let them know you're back."

"Do you come into contact with any of the prisoners?" Heidi asked her cousin a few minutes later.

Surprised, since they had this discussion previously, Helga answered, "Yes, I've already told you. The senior officer and his staff; that's it."

"But you have seen and spoken to some of the others, haven't you?" Heidi pressed her cousin for more information.

"Just when they come in for the first time." Helga was suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just worried about Uncle Oscar going in there; and you, as well. That's all," Heidi mumbled.

Helga didn't believe her, but decided to drop the matter. "They wouldn't hurt anyone," she answered. "Colonel Hogan, that's the senior officer… He and the Kommandant work well together. We've never had a problem."

After Heidi had caught up on her sleep, she paid a visit to her aunt and uncle.

"It was exhilarating," she reported. "We fooled the patrol… and Sergeant Olsen, he wasn't scared at all; at least, he didn't seem to be."

"Heidi, this isn't a game," her aunt responded.

"I'm fully aware of that," Heidi replied. "I was helping to hide the Weiss's for a long time. Look, I'm a grownup. I can take care of myself. Don't worry. Uncle Oscar, do you ever need anyone else to go into Stalag 13 with you?" she asked casually. "Maybe for a diversion?"

Oscar and Greta looked at each other.

"No, absolutely not," Oscar said firmly. "Why in heaven's name would you ask such a thing?"

"No reason. I would just like to do more."

"You've done your share, dear." Greta patted her niece's hands.

"Do you, um, know in advance when Sergeant Olsen will turn up?" Heidi, a bit embarrassed, asked.

"Oh, so that's it. No, we usually don't. You are interested in Sergeant Olsen?" Oscar smiled at Heidi, who blushed.

"No, just curious," she quickly answered. "We did spend a good deal of time together."

"And he walked her home," Greta stated.

"Yes." Heidi, who had been staring at her teacup, looked up. "He's hiding something. He told me a bit about his background. He has relatives nearby. Did you know that?"

"He told us a great deal, Heidi, but not everything. We didn't press. But, yes, we know about the relatives," Oscar explained.

"Is that it?" Heidi asked.

"Heidi," Greta responded. "He'll tell us if and when he's ready. Or, he may never say what happened to him. It's his choice." Greta and Oscar did not mention the nightmares Olsen had experienced, the few times he slept over.

Three days later, the Weiss's and Captain Silverman were on their way to England via the sub. The Weiss's were the first group of civilians to be smuggled out of Germany by Hogan's traveler's aide society. London, however, was not pleased. They issued a stern warning to Hogan not to make a habit out of rescuing Jewish refugees.

"They're afraid we'll be swamped," Hogan explained to his team. "And that we will lose sight of our mission."

"I think they've lost sight of their humanity," Olsen complained.

Hogan had no comment. Internally, he was seething, but he could not afford to let his anger at London's tone affect him. The war continued and they had to a job to do.

"For now, flyers, escaped prisoners, and defectors are the only packages that will be accepted. The best way to help people like the Weiss's, is to get the war over with as soon as possible. Understood?" Hogan waited for an acknowledgement; then dismissed the team. He sat alone in the radio room thinking about the family that had been hidden in his tunnels. How many more of them were out there? How many innocent children? He then decided that if they again faced a similar situation, he would do everything he could to get the people out and deal with the fallout later.

Olsen spent the next week in camp attempting to keep busy and trying to put his last mission out of his mind. Occasionally, he would stop whatever he was doing and stare blankly into space. Several of his bunkmates noticed the strange behavior and, concerned about a relapse, asked Kinch to approach the sergeant and feel him out.

"Hey," Kinch said to Olsen, who was outside the hut, rinsing off some shirts and socks.

"Hey, yourself. Nice day," Olsen continued with his task, occasionally glancing past the wires into the woods.

"Getting antsy?" Kinch grabbed a bucket of water and joined the laundry detail.

"Antsy? No, why?" Olsson quickly answered. He grabbed the clothes and walked over to the line. "Can you hand me those clothespins?"

Kinch passed Olsen the pins. "You were staring past the fence. Actually, you've done that a lot lately. Spacing out in the barracks, too. Everything okay, buddy? You're not…?"

"About to lose it again?" Olsen didn't know whether to be angry or touched that the guys cared enough about him to send Kinch to check on him. At least it wasn't Hogan. "No, Kinch, I'm fine. Just been thinking about last week, that's all. The cave, the family, how Heidi stayed with us all day when she could've gone home…" His voice trailed off.

"Ha, so that's it," Kinch grinned. "It's the girl!"

"No," Olsen retorted, "I didn't say that. I…" He looked up at Kinch. "I… I have nothing to say." Now finished with his chore, he turned and headed back to the barracks.

"You sound like Schultz." Kinch laughed and slapped Olsen on the back.

"Don't say anything, Kinch," Olsen pleaded.

"Gotcha," Kinch assured Olsen.

"Well?" Newkirk found Kinch alone in the radio room and pressed him for information.

"Well, what?"

"How is Olsen?"

"He'll be fine, Newkirk. I talked to him. The last mission made an impact; dealing with kids, being stuck in that cave."

"Understandable." Newkirk, now satisfied, went back up top; although he still wondered if anything had happened between Olsen and Schnitzer's niece.

Meanwhile, Olsen was having guilty thoughts about his attraction to Heidi. He had, he thought, a girl back home, but they weren't really what you would consider an item. Although he had carried her picture in his wallet, they were more like close friends of the opposite sex. He and Julia had known each other for years and she had supported his choice to sign up with the RAF. In fact, he knew she had been dating other men. Now realizing that Julia would want him to be happy, he brushed those guilty thoughts aside.

For safety and security purposes, escape routes and safe houses were often switched. Hogan and Felix, one of the underground leaders, were down in the tunnels discussing possible changes for the month of October.

"This house, here, has a false attic." Felix was describing a possible new stopover point on the escape route. "It's a great place to stay the first night. The owners are tight with local party officials. They wouldn't be suspected as members of the Underground."

"It's about the same distance as our last stop," Hogan noted as he looked at the map. "I am concerned about this road here. It's pretty wide. What about convoy activity or patrols?"

"That's a good question. But we always tell them to stay off the roads. We could conduct some surveys over the next week. See what shows up."

Hogan hated to lose a good safe house. "I think we should travel the route, Felix. Plus, test out this couple. Make sure they're not too nervous." Hogan had run into some operatives who lost their nerve at the first set of code words. An understandable reaction, as these were all civilians, but a reaction with dangerous or possibly fatal ramifications. "We'll check out the house, Felix. But don't let them know we're coming. I'll send someone out."

"Right, Colonel. You have an airman ready to go?"

"No," Hogan said. "This past week has been seven days of sheer boredom. I'll use my own men."

"I need a team," Hogan explained later that day up in his office. "It's not a one man show. Too dangerous, and it's more than a day out right now. Olsen, I know you just got back."

"It's all right, sir. I guess I'm the go-to guy for missions outside the area."

Hogan laughed. "You're right. But, I need someone else." A cold was now running through the hut. Newkirk and a few others were already sniffling. "Who's not sick, coming down sick, or getting over being sick?" Two men stepped forward, LeBeau being the only one with outside experience. "LeBeau, you're it. Guess we'll have to do without chicken soup for a few days," Hogan quipped.

"When do we leave, Colonel?" Olsen asked.

"Tonight after roll call."

Olsen and LeBeau presented themselves for a final briefing before ascending the ladder.

"Here's your map, Olsen," Hogan handed it over. "Got your flashlights and weapons?" When the men nodded, he said, "Any questions?"

"Check out the route to the new safe house, check out the new safe house, report back ASAP." LeBeau parroted back the orders.

"Correct. Except for one change; after you leave the house, go in to Hammelburg and check in with Max for radio parts. Then come back. Got it?"

"Look at that," Olsen handed LeBeau the binoculars. It had been an hour since they had left camp and the two were now paralleling the main road on the way to the new safe house. "Ruts. A ton of them." After making sure it was clear, they left the safety of the brush and headed down to the road.

LeBeau bent down. "They're fresh."

Olsen was checking a few yards away. "There are a lot of patterns here, Louis; a lot of traffic. That's not good."

"Both directions," LeBeau remarked. Now nervous, LeBeau headed up the hill at the side of the road. "Let's keep moving, Olsen, before we hit a traffic jam."

"Checkpoint: 3 o'clock," LeBeau whispered a few hours later, "That's new, I think."

Olsen unfolded the map and turned on the flashlight. "It's not on here." He pulled out a pencil and marked it down. "That's two. I'm not feeling this, LeBeau."

"I'm with you," LeBeau agreed. "If you don't know the terrain or what you're doing...C'mon, let's keep moving."

The two prisoners ran into more trouble as they moved closer to the safe house. They passed a factory that was surrounded by troops and guard dogs and that was obviously operating around the clock. "Great intelligence!" Olsen exclaimed. "Wonder what they're making?"

"Obviously not cottage cheese," LeBeau quipped. "Olsen, I know Felix vouched for these people, but this route is too dangerous. They don't know we're coming. I think we should… we should bag it. Oui, bag it, that's the word." LeBeau waited for the sergeant to make a decision.

"Something doesn't smell right. I agree," Olsen looked at his watch. "Too bad we have to stop in town; otherwise we'd make it back for roll call."

Louis shrugged. "We can find something to do in town before Max opens up."

"I suppose. Let's go."

About the same time LeBeau and Olsen reached the outskirts of Hammelburg, Schultz was getting ready to count the men standing outside Barracks Two.

"Uh, Schultz?" Hogan motioned to the sergeant, "We're two men short today." He then sneezed.

"Gesundeidt. Colonel Hogan, who is missing? Where are they? No, don't tell me. Olsen and LeBeau."

Hogan sneezed again. Other men were coughing and sniffling.

"They're sick. I told them to stay inside."

"You're all sick. I have to go check inside." Schultz headed for the door.

"Schultz, are you sure you want to do that?" Hogan deftly blocked his way.

"Yes, I am sure. Please, move aside." Hogan moved and followed Schultz into the building.

"See?" Hogan pointed. Two prisoners were, indeed, apparently sleeping on Olsen and LeBeau's bunks. "Shhh, they were up all night coughing and... Sick."

Schultz nodded and walked out. Hogan followed. The two prisoners scurried out of the beds and scrambled into the tunnels, quickly heading over to the next barracks.

"I'll tell them you asked about their health." Hogan patted the guard.

"Don't touch me, please, Colonel Hogan. I don't want a cold."

Olsen and LeBeau carefully crept their way into town. It was just past 6 a.m. and still not quite light out. "There's a café," Louis pointed towards the train station. "It looks open."

Olsen turned down the suggestion. "Lesson number one in outside operations in populated areas, LeBeau; when you're carrying guns, a map and a flashlight…"

"Stop," LeBeau held up his hand, "I know; that was stupid. So, where to now?"

"Some place where we won't be searched."

"This early in the morning?" LeBeau asked.

"The Gestapo doesn't follow a time clock, Louis." The town was beginning to wake up and Olsen was getting nervous. People needed a reason to be where they were, or they could be in big trouble.

"Well?" Olsen's uneasiness was rubbing off on LeBeau.

"Schnitzer, Schnitzer," Olsen was thinking out loud, "Got it. The market! C'mon." He grabbed LeBeau and took off around the corner towards the market where daily shipments of farm goods, flowers and supplies were delivered. Restaurant owners and proprietors of various businesses would congregate there at dawn to pick up the merchandise they needed for the week. Despite the war, most goods and food stuffs were still available and, although it was Saturday, the market was busy.

"It's easy to blend in here," Olsen told LeBeau. "Okay, listen up. I'm here to pick up, pick up... Help me out here. What would a veterinarian need?"

LeBeau, who of course knew of Olsen's alternate identity, thought for a moment. "Parts of fish not sold to the public for cats? Vegetable tops for rabbits? You know, he feeds the dogs really well. Probably meat from beef ribs, something like that. Just take a look."

"Okay, come with me." Olsen took off and LeBeau followed. "If anyone asks, we're checking on supplies for the vet practice."

Fifteen minutes went by and no one questioned the two. They made a point of looking at goods and making discreet comments, with Olsen doing most of the talking. "We should buy something," he finally decided.

"What?" LeBeau whispered.

"Fish?" Olsen asked. A fish stall was close by.

"Let me take a look," LeBeau walked over. "Here, these are perfect. Fish heads."

"You're joking." Olsen was a bit squeamish.

"I don't joke about food, even if it is for cats." Now carrying their package of smelly fish heads and having wasted half an hour, Olsen and LeBeau headed toward Max's store, which was due to open in fifteen minutes.

Olsen couldn't believe it. "Oh, for crying out loud. Are you kidding me?" The mission, so simple at its start, had now gone from bad to worse. The sidewalk outside the store was teeming with Gestapo.

"Merde," LeBeau muttered under his breath. "Back to camp," he said hopefully.

"Yeah," Olsen said, "This way." The two managed to walk one block but were turned back when more cars and police headed in their direction.

"God, I hope they didn't bust Max," was Olsen's first thought.

"We're going to be trapped," LeBeau reminded him. "They'll start searching everyone."

"We may have a place to wait this out." Olsen didn't have much time to think. His idea was impetuous and dangerous, and he would probably be court-martialed or worse by Hogan and Schnitzer if they found out, but he had no idea what else to do. "Louis, we're going to Heidi's apartment."

"Are you nuts?" LeBeau whispered, "The colonel will be furious, that's if he doesn't kill you."

"Or we can be searched, and then we can try to explain the guns and the map," Olsen countered.

"It's risking the operation. You're right," LeBeau reluctantly agreed, "But what about Helga? She's seen me in the office. And I am hard to forget."

"She's only seen me up close once," Olsen recalled, "When I first came into camp. Let's worry about you when we get there." Five minutes later the two were outside Helga and Heidi's apartment. They entered the building, checked the names on the mail boxes and headed up to the second floor. Olsen paused a moment and then knocked on the door.


	17. Chapter 17

thank you Bits and Pieces for the terrific proofreading (again!) for this story, as well as her contributions to this chapter!

"LeBeau, stand away from the door," Olsen said quietly, "Just in case Helga answers."

"They're probably still asleep," LeBeau answered back; but he moved off to the side. Olsen waited a few moments; then lightly knocked again. This time, he heard sounds of movement. He looked at LeBeau and nodded. The door opened a crack and a blond head peeked through. The crack quickly widened as the occupant recognized Olsen's face.

"What are you doing here?" Heidi, still clad in her nightgown and bathrobe, quickly stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

"Boy, am I glad you answered the door. Oh, sorry, we're sort of trapped." He pointed at LeBeau.

"The Gestapo?" Heidi whispered.

Olsen nodded.

"They're looking for members of the Underground," she said. "A car was ambushed last night, right outside of town. Was it you? No, don't tell me. We got a call early this morning from my uncle warning us about the sweep. He told us to stay in. Helga is inside. She may recognize you."

"We realize that, mademoiselle, but the alternative would not be good. We would have had to ditch everything we have on us." LeBeau slightly opened his jacket. The top of a pistol grip was sticking out of his pocket.

"Well, I..." Heidi started thinking, but it was too late. The door swung open and revealed the prison secretary standing there, one hand on her hip.

"Well. Care to introduce our visitors, Heidi? Don't leave them standing in the hall. That's not polite. Come in. Sit."

Several moments later Olsen and LeBeau found themselves seated on a sofa in the middle of the girls' small living area. The two had disappeared into the bedroom to change. The apartment was cozy and comfortably furnished; the furniture an obvious mix of hand-me-downs and a few newer pieces. The men, who remained silent, waited a few uncomfortable minutes. Finally, Heidi and Helga reappeared.

Heidi introduced Olsen. "This is Johann Hoffman, Helga. Aunt Greta's nephew from Stuttgart."

Helga laughed. "I didn't know Aunt Greta has relations in Stuttgart. And, I suppose you are Uncle Oscar's long lost cousin from Dresden?"

"Yes," LeBeau piped up. "From Dresden."

"No," Helga interjected. "You are Corporal LeBeau from Barracks two, and you are..." She gazed at Olsen's face. "Hammond, maybe? Definitely from Barracks two. I know. Sergeant Olsen. Am I correct? By the way, your German is perfect."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

"I know there are a lot of prisoners," Helga told her cousin, "But I do have some spare time to place names with faces. So, you two; does Colonel Hogan know you've escaped? I would think the apartment of the prison secretary would be the last place you would want to go." Helga was clearly enjoying herself.

"Um, escaped? Yes. Yes, we've escaped," Olsen said quickly. "Right over the fence," he motioned with his hands, "And through the woods. Colonel Hogan doesn't know yet."

"And here you are. And you've brought," Helga walked over and picked up a brown bag, "Fish heads. All right, that's enough. What is really going on, Heidi?" She glared at her cousin.

"I'm not sure, Helga," Heidi replied, "But, perhaps you would like to model your supply of stockings given to you by Colonel Hogan, and offer our guests some American chocolate, also supplied by Colonel Hogan. Wait. Do you two drink coffee? I have real coffee in the kitchen –American coffee – hidden in a German container."

LeBeau and Olsen, both amused and nervous at the same time, were entranced by the repartee between the two cousins. It was finally LeBeau who spoke up.

"It appears we are at an impasse."

"He's correct," Heidi said. "Helga?"

"I wouldn't turn them in. But," she added, "I don't believe a word of your story. You are not escaping. Colonel Hogan wouldn't allow it. Oh, don't look so shocked. I know more than you realize. I just enjoyed seeing you all squirm. Especially you," she pointed at her cousin, "You and your secrets. I can only imagine what you were up to last week."

"You have no idea," Heidi replied. "And some things are best kept secret."

"If you insist. Now," Helga stood up, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Hogan had dismissed most of the men after roll call with orders to nurse their colds. Although he and Kinch were coming down with the virus, they both felt well enough to head into the tunnels for a short time to go over codes and other routine matters. They were down there when a call came in over the radio warning them about the Gestapo sweep and the reason behind the activity.

"Looks like the Underground is trying to expand their repertoire," Kinch commented.

"Not sure if that's a good or bad thing, Kinch. It could be dangerous for the residents if the local office gets vengeful. Or, if they're caught."

"Now that could be a disaster, Sir. If that happens and they talk…"

"Well, we may have to start smuggling Underground operatives out on a regular basis then," Hogan said. "You know, sometimes these nuisance attacks aren't worth the risk. Crap!"

"What's wrong?" Kinch asked.

"I told LeBeau and Olsen to go over to Max's to pick up those parts you needed. They could be walking into a trap if they're too early." Hogan looked at his watch. "Hopefully, they haven't left the safe house yet."

"Can I help you with breakfast, Fraulein?" LeBeau poked his head into the kitchen.

"Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you. Care to tell me why you and Sergeant Olsen are here and not home in your barracks?" Helga asked.

"Non," LeBeau replied.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, both Heidi and Olsen were suddenly tongue-tied.

"How was your week?" That was the only thing Olsen could think of to say at the moment.

"Fine. Yours?"

"Fine. There's a cold running through the barracks."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Brian. Some of my students have been out sick."

"Is that a picture of your family?" Olsen pointed to a photo sitting on a table by the window.

"Yes." Heidi got up and walked over and picked up the frame. She returned to the sofa and sat down. "These are my parents. I'm an only child," she explained.

"I remember you told me that in the cave," Olsen reminded her. "I'm sorry I'm not carrying any pictures."

"You know, you should," she suggested. "It would appear more normal to have something in your wallet, if you are searched."

"That's a good point. I'll bring it up when I get back and, uh, how long do theseGestapo sweeps usually last?" Olsen quickly changed the subject as the two suddenly found themselves inching closer together.

"I don't know," Heidi said, "The last one was over in about an hour, but to be safe, you should wait a bit after it's clear, in case they come back." Her voice grew softer as she gazed longingly into his eyes.

"That sounds like a good plan. I…" Olsen paused as he searched Heidi's eyes. Suddenly his desire took over and, before he could stop himself, he swept her into his arms and leaned in, pressing his lips gently against hers. She moved into his embrace, circling her arms around him, and kissed him back.

"Breakfast is ready!" LeBeau called out a few moments later. "Oh, Excusez-moi. They're occupied," he informed Helga with a wink.

"What?" She peeked out. "Now I know why she was so interested in the other prisoners. Ahem," she cleared her throat, startling both Olsen and Heidi. "Breakfast is ready. Interested?" Helga held out a plate of eggs.

"Um, sure," Olsen stood up. "Thanks." Heidi followed.

"We should check out the street before these two go out," Heidi told her cousin, as they cleared off the table. Olsen and LeBeau were looking out the window.

Olsen returned to the kitchen. "If you want to do that, send us a signal to let us know when it's clear. Then we'll leave."

"You won't forget your fish heads, will you?" Helga joked.

"You may keep them," LeBeau said. "Normally I would be able to whip something up, but by the time we would get back..."

"I'll drop my bag if it's clear. Is that a good signal?" Helga asked. The four were going over Olsen and LeBeau's exit strategy.

"That'll work. The simpler, the better. C'mon, LeBeau, let's check the window."

"I'll check. You can see the ladies to the door. Thanks." LeBeau grinned.

"Heidi, I'll wait for you in the lobby. " Helga headed down the hall.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again," Heidi told Olsen.

"It's hard to set a schedule in this business." Olsen stroked Heidi's cheek. "I was miserable this whole past week."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yes and no. I still live in a prison. But I've heard other stalags are much worse," Olsen quickly added. "I have no idea when I'll be out again."

"But you will be out again, won't you?"

At first Olsen didn't answer. "I'll try, and if I can, I promise, I'll find you." This time the two parted, not with a peck on the cheek, but with a long passionate kiss.

A short while later, the two women, holding their shopping bags, left the apartment building together. They walked through the neighborhood and, confirming that the coast was clear, headed back to their street. Olsen and LeBeau saw the prearranged signal. They left the building, stopped by Max's and started to make their way back to camp.

Olsen and LeBeau were each lost in their own thoughts and did not talk much on their trek back. Occasionally, Olsen would quiz LeBeau on landmarks or directions and then the two would continue on their route.

Finally, not far from camp, LeBeau spoke up. "What are we going to tell the colonel?"

"The truth. The road to the safe house wasn't safe. We never got there. We got delayed in town. But, ta da!" Olsen reached into his pocket and held out a bunch of unidentifiable electronic paraphernalia. "We have the parts."

LeBeau chuckled. "A half-truth?"

"Are you insinuating, Corporal, that what I say happened, didn't happen?"

"Absolutely not, Sergeant."

"Good." Olsen stopped at the edge of the tree line by the camp perimeter. "Looks clear. Let's go."

"You two are back early," Hogan said as the bunk entrance opened and the two men climbed through.

"We had a problem with the route to the safe house." Olsen handed Kinch the pile of radio parts.

"What kind of problem? Sit." Hogan pointed to the table and then sneezed.

"Bless you," LeBeau and Olsen said in unison.

"Thanks. We're all sneezing."

Olsen pulled out the map. "The road was pretty wide and filled with ruts going in every direction."

"Convoys?" Hogan asked.

"Convoys and patrols. There were new checkpoints here and here." Olsen showed Hogan the spots on the map.

"Hmmm. Checkpoints mean patrols in the woods."

"That's what we realized, Colonel," LeBeau said. "Also, there's a factory located here. With guards."

"Wow. So, you didn't keep going."

"No, Sir," Olsen continued, "It's possible the people in the safe house are really on our side, but the whole situation made us nervous. It's definitely not safe for fliers or escaped prisoners out there on their own."

"You did the right thing. I would like to know what they're making in that factory. So," Hogan said, "I see you got the parts. We were worried. There was a Gestapo sweep in town early this morning."

Olsen and LeBeau glanced at each other. "We almost ran into them, but we managed to hide until they went back into headquarters. That's when we went to Max's store." Not the whole truth, but not a lie either, Olsen thought.

Olsen and LeBeau were saved from treading on thin ice, when the lookout interrupted with a warning.

"Schultz is heading this way."

"Quick," Hogan stood up and started to hide the map, "You two grab a bunk and get under the covers. You're sick."

Within seconds, the map disappeared. Olsen and LeBeau, shoes still on, were under the covers, and Hogan and several other men were playing cards and blowing their noses.

"I came by to check on everyone and their head colds," Schultz announced as he walked through the door.

Hogan put down his cards. "We're handling things here, Schultz. I thought you would want to stay away. Germs and all that."

The sergeant headed over to the two lower bunks where LeBeau and Olsen were covered up to their chins, shivering and coughing.

"Hmmm, they're still sick."

"Yeah, we're still sick, Schultz. Go away." LeBeau turned over.

"Tsk, tsk. You'll all be next if you don't drink plenty of fluids and get some rest." Schultz wagged his finger at the occupants of the barracks.

"Thank you, mother." Hogan got up and pushed Schultz towards the door. "We'll survive. In fact, I bet we'll have a full roll call by tonight."

"That, Colonel Hogan, would make my day."


	18. Chapter 18

Escaped prisoners and downed fliers continued to be funneled through the camp during the fall. Hogan, who had inherited the code name, Papa Bear, and his operation, were becoming more well known throughout the Underground network, and some cells were eager to pass on information and occasionally, important defectors.

Newkirk and LeBeau, both fully trained for outside work, handled most of the pick-ups, and sometimes ventured into town. Olsen, however, was still considered the primary operative for most outside missions. He became an almost familiar sight to shopkeepers in downtown Hammelburg, purchasing items for both the camp and Schnitzer, while conducting reconnaissance and checking in with the main Underground leaders in the area.

Olsen soon discovered that Heidi's school let out at 3:30. During one of his assignments, he had the time to wait for her to leave the building.

"Excuse me, Fraulein, do you need help carrying your books?"

Heidi quickly turned around. Olsen grinned and tipped his cap. "I don't need to be back until the last roll call," he whispered.

"Well, Sir, I do need to carry these papers up the stairs."

"Helga doesn't leave until 5:00, I believe?" Olsen said as he held the door open. It was now close to 4:00.

"She usually gets back around 5:30, give or take." Heidi opened the door. Olsen carried in her bag and the pile of books and placed them on the table.

"So, Sergeant Olsen, what have you been up to since I saw you last? You didn't tell Colonel Hogan about what happened, or did you?" Heidi removed her coat and placed it on a hook near the door. "Would you like some wine?"

"Wine? Yes. In answer to your first question; can't say. Question number two; no, LeBeau and I left out certain details." Olsen took the glass of wine Heidi had poured. "Nice, thanks. I hope you have stayed out of trouble."

"Somewhat," she said. "I'm still waiting for Uncle Oscar to let me ride along one day. But he won't."

"Smart man. I don't think you understand what might happen if someone who looks like you... shows up in a camp full of men who haven't seen a woman in a very long time."

"Brain, I do know. That's why I think it would be a wonderful idea. Think of the diversion and what you could accomplish."

Olsen laughed. "You remind me of Colonel Hogan. In a good way," he quickly added. "Always thinking of ways to fool the Nazis."

"Colonel Hogan is a smart man. I accept your compliment," Heidi replied playfully.

Olsen looked at his watch. "We have just over an hour." He put his wine glass down.

"An hour will have to do." Heidi put her glass down as well.

Throughout the remainder of the fall months, Olsen continued to venture outside of camp on numerous occasions to conduct reconnaissance, obtain supplies and to trade places with escaped prisoners or downed flyers. He often normally stayed with the Schnitzers, who were now used to the American showing up at unexpected times. Heidi and Olsen would take every chance they had to spend time together. Although Helga was aware that her cousin and Olsen were seeing each other, she, being young and dating as well, was happy to keep their secret.

"I know enough secrets," she said one evening. "What's one more? Besides, how can what you two are doing be any worse than what goes on at that camp?"

"At camp," Olsen muttered. "Yep. Dangerous."

"What's wrong, Brian? You've been awfully quiet." Heidi could sense a difference in the sergeant's demeanor.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." Olsen didn't want the girls to worry, but if they found out what had recently happened after the last venture outside, he was sure they would be appalled.

On one of Olsen's trips recently he'd found himself the guest of a group of Underground members who had devised a plan to attack an important supply convoy.

"We are willing to take the chance and we have the weapons," the leader had eagerly explained, "But what we don't have is the skill to pull this off by ourselves. You're soldiers; can you help?"

"All I can do is take this back to our commander. We've never been involved in anything like this before, you know that. We usually just hide people and then get them out of Germany."

"I know, Sergeant, but if you can just ask. If you can't help, we may have to wait for another opportunity."

"You're kidding, right? We're not combat troops!" Hogan had looked at the message sent by the Underground through Olsen, and was at first, incredulous.

"Well, to be fair, we have a bit more training than they do."

"Good point, Kinch. Let's suppose we branch out into this sort of thing. Any volunteers? This is a lot more dangerous than picking up stranded flyers!" Hogan looked at the group of men gathered around the table. LeBeau was the first one to step forward.

"I'll go, mon Colonel."

Newkirk sighed and then he too volunteered. "I can't let Louis go by himself. I'm in." One by one, every man in the barracks stepped forward.

Hogan went out that night and met with the Underground leader. Several days later, he, LeBeau, Newkirk and Olsen, along with the small Underground cell, successfully attacked the convoy with weapons supplied by their new contacts. Encouraged, Hogan decided to start stockpiling grenades, dynamite and other weapons they could steal from the ammo building in camp. He also gleefully notified London of their new partnership and received word that any interruption to the German war effort or destruction of industry and infrastructure would be greatly appreciated.

"We'll do what we can," was Hogan's response, "With what we have and the personnel available."

That night at the apartment, Olsen was mulling over their recent combat experience. It was certainly a morale booster, but this new hobby definitely increased the chance of someone getting hurt, or worse. No, he decided, the girls couldn't know. Not now.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" Heidi repeated the question.

"Absolutely sure," Olsen insisted. He gave Heidi a kiss.

Helga looked at her watch. "Time for me to go out. How do I look?" She twirled around.

"Very nice. Do you know when you'll be back?" Heidi asked.

"Late," Helga answered. "Don't wait up. And you?" She looked at Olsen.

"I'm covered." He grinned. "And, I have your uncle's key."

"Do your friends at camp know where you go all the time you're out?" Heidi asked Olsen a while later.

"I don't think they have any idea. Seriously, they never ask." Olsen yawned. "Sorry." The entire main team had been up two nights in a row. The first night, they had attacked a Gestapo truck transporting an important defector. He was now hiding in the tunnels awaiting a pick-up date. The previous night, a flyer, the one now taking Olsen's place, was rescued. Olsen was using the time he had with the switch to again purchase supplies. He yawned again. "No sleep for two nights."

"Oh, you poor thing. Here," Heidi bent down and removed his shoes, "Lie down and I'll rub your feet. I insist." Heidi moved down to the end of the sofa. Olsen was too tired to argue and was asleep in minutes. Heidi extricated herself and began to quietly putter around the apartment, finally settling herself in an armchair to grade papers.

She was interrupted by Olsen's stirrings. He was restless and murmuring in his sleep. Heidi's English was not as good as her cousin's and she had a hard time making out what he was saying. Something about cousins, bombs, civilians; she wasn't sure. Pictures? Curious and concerned, Heidi put down her work and walked over to the couch.

"Shh, Brian, settle down," she whispered. "You're having a bad dream." Stroking his hair, Heidi continued to talk softly as she maneuvered herself onto the couch next to him. Helga found both of them asleep on the couch when she returned home late that night.

Not sure if she should wake the two, or let them sleep, Helga went into the bedroom to change. Was Olsen expected at my uncle's at a certain time? She doubted it. He said he had a key. But, what if Olsen has to be back at camp very early in the morning? Wait, he said he was covered. Covered until when? Erring on the side of caution, Helga decided to wake them up.

"Hey." She shook Heidi.

"Oh. Oh, it's you! What time is it?"

"Midnight. Does he have to be back at a certain time?"

"Not sure. He was supposed to go over to Uncle Oscar's. Brian, wake up. It's midnight." Heidi, still trapped on the couch, shook his shoulder, waking him up.

This is nice, was his first thought. "Oh, you're back," he said as he noticed Helga. "Oops, what time is it?"

"Midnight," both girls said in unison.

"Phew. I'm good. Guess I fell asleep."

"Ten seconds after your head hit the pillow," Heidi remarked.

"I see you were tired as well," Olsen, his eyes twinkling, rolled off the couch. Heidi didn't answer.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone." Helga went off into the bedroom.

"I need to be at your uncle's by 7:00 a.m." Olsen held out his hand, which Heidi accepted.

"You can go back to sleep if you want; I'll set the alarm for 6:00. Or, I can make some coffee."

Olsen, who was still tired, but wouldn't admit it, sat back down on the couch and rubbed his eyes. "Yes, sure."

"Coffee, or back to sleep?" Heidi asked. "Hey, you can't function very well without sleeping for three straight nights."

"I'll catch up back at camp."

"You were having a nightmare," Heidi blurted out. "That's how I ended up on the couch." She sat down next to him. "It's all right. Everyone has them, especially now. And with what you've been through..."

"I... I should go." Olsen stood up. "Where's my jacket?" He started putting on his shoes. Heidi was mortified. She realized she may have overstepped and possibly either embarrassed Olsen, or invaded his privacy.

"Brian, please, I'm so sorry. Please, don't go..." Heidi pleaded. Olsen grabbed his jacket and threw it on, checked to see that his identity papers were in the pocket, picked up the bag of supplies, and headed for the door.

Heidi tried again to convince him to stay. "You shouldn't be walking around this time of night."

"I've done it before," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but you are tired and upset. Please."

"I'll be all right." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "I need to go." Olsen was clearly shaken. Heidi could see it in his eyes. He opened the door and walked out into the hallway.

Heidi knew better than to ask when he would be back. But, I can't have it end like this, she thought, and ran out into the hall.

"Colonel Hogan wouldn't want you to go outside if you are like this," she said. "You always have to be on your toes. You told me that once. And the patrols are out at night. If you are distracted..."

Olsen was by the door leading to the stairs. He turned.

"I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, and neither could my Aunt and Uncle!" Tears started flowing down Heidi's face. She held out her hand. "I couldn't bear it. Please, come back."

"I'll… I'll ask your uncle to call you after he brings me back to camp," Olsen said as he opened the door.

Heidi returned to her apartment in a daze. It wasn't until she saw Helga standing in the living room that she began to cry out loud.

"Did you two have an argument?" Helga asked sympathetically. They were seated on the couch. Helga, who was trying to comfort her cousin, had her arm around Heidi's shoulder.

"No," Heidi replied in between sobs. "No. He was so tired; he fell asleep on the couch. I started marking papers and he... I don't know if I should say anything."

"Go ahead, it's between us. I won't tell a soul," Helga promised.

"He was murmuring in his sleep and was very restless; like he was frightened. So I climbed in next to him and he calmed down."

"And you told him?" Helga asked.

"I didn't mean to. It just came out. And, now he left early. He was so upset and embarrassed. I think, Helga, if something happens to him on the way to Uncle Oscar's, I'll never forgive myself. Every man in that camp probably has bad dreams. I don't understand."

"Men don't like to show their vulnerability, Heidi. Not to each other and certainly not to their girlfriends. He wants to think he's protecting you. And now he's shown another side. Maybe one he's been trying to forget. I see a lot of these men when they first get to camp. Here, wipe your face." She handed Heidi a handkerchief. "They are all brave. But, some… Some have had bad experiences that can't be described. You can see it in their eyes and the way they hold themselves."

"Were you in the office when Brian came in?" Heidi asked.

"Yes. Yes I was. I will say that he was one that must have had one of those experiences."

Olsen walked down the stairs as if he were in a trance. He entered the lobby and left the building. The street was deserted and very dark. He began to walk, heading in the direction that would lead him out of town. He had gone two blocks and turned, when, realizing he was smack in the middle of the sidewalk and not close to the edge of the buildings as the men had been taught, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh, brother. Olsen moved close to the side of the bank building he had just passed and leaned up against it. He took a deep breath. I turned a corner without checking first... Idiot! Idiot! He thought back to what Heidi had said. She was probably right, and he vowed to be extra careful on his way to the vet's house. For some reason, his feet didn't want to move. Nine months. He had been a prisoner now for nine months, and over those months he still occasionally had bad dreams. Everyone in the barracks did; even the colonel. Squeezing his eyes shut, Olsen thought back to that first week. How the time after his capture had left him so traumatized, he had almost lost his ability to function. How he had been so embarrassed by his nightmares, that he had thrown off well-meaning attempts by his bunkmates to help him. And then came the final straw. His eyes started to tear and he recalled how Colonel Hogan had gently brought him back from the abyss. He had confided in another man, his commanding officer, and divulged everything. Olsen wiped the tears off on his sleeve. And yet; he couldn't tell the woman he loved. The woman he loved…

Olsen quickly turned and headed back the way he had come, at as fast a pace as he could muster while still remaining unobtrusive.

Heidi was still crying and seated on the sofa while Helga had gone to the kitchen to boil up water for some tea. They both heard the light knock at the door. "I'll see who it is. Stay there." Helga turned off the stove and left the kitchen, while Heidi, now praying that Olsen had returned, stood up.

"Who is it?"

"Helga, it's me. Can I come back in? I've been an..." Olsen didn't complete the sentence, as Helga opened the door and pulled him in.

She motioned with her head towards the living room, where Heidi was still standing. "I'm going back to bed," Helga announced.

"I came back. I shouldn't have left," Olsen said. "It's not your fault you heard."

"Shhh. I understand."

Olsen put out his arms. He held Heidi close for several minutes. "You've been crying," he said softly.

"You came back," Heidi said through her tears.

"I came back because you were right. I walked only two blocks before I screwed up." Olsen wiped the tears off her cheek. "I came back. I came back because I love you."

"I love you, too." The two were now seated on the couch.

"I'm so sorry for what happened tonight."

"No, Heidi. I'm sorry. I wasn't mad, I was just..."

She stopped him. "You don't ever have to explain, or ever tell me what happened to you."

Olsen hesitated a moment, then took the plunge. "I think it's time."

"Are you sure? You still have to leave by 6:00."

"No, I'm sure. It won't be easy, and it won't be easy for you to hear. Colonel Hogan is the only one who knows."

"I can take it," Heidi assured him.

Olsen and Heidi stayed up the rest of the night. To Olsen's surprise, the story of his capture and what happened afterwards was not as hard to tell as he'd feared. Heidi listened intently, and although horrified, made no comment. What could a person say? It wasn't until Olsen recalled Hogan's words after their talk, that his memories became too much to bear and he broke down. He and Heidi remained entwined in each other's arms until it was time for him to leave. Again, Heidi knew better than to ask when she would see him again. "You'll be all right?" she asked after they kissed.

He nodded. "I'll be fine." He smiled, caressed her cheek, and left her with a quick hug and a wink.


	19. Chapter 19

"You plan on changing careers after the war, then?" Newkirk looked up from his solitaire game at Olsen, who had just popped through the tunnel entrance.

"What do you mean by that?" He blew on his hands and headed for the stove. "Getting cold out there."

"You're spending an awful amount of time outside of camp, at Schnitzer's. Figured you'll be 'eading 'ome and start fixing dogs and birthing calves." Newkirk laughed. "Actually, I think you're out now more than you're in."

"No way." Olsen walked over to the table and eyed Newkirk's pile. He grabbed a red jack and placed it on a black queen. "True, I have been on veterinary runs, but I think I'll stick with engineering. They'll need a lot of engineers to rebuild Europe after the war."

"Blimey, you're optimistic." Newkirk lost his game, reshuffled the cards and dealt out another hand. "News hasn't been too good."

"I can't think that the Allies won't win, Newkirk. I can't."

Olsen went over to his locker, opened it and starting pawing through. "Hey, Newkirk, got any aftershave? I'll trade you."

That got the corporal's attention. "No, I... Hey, who are you trying to impress? 'Ang on. You've got someone on the outside. Does she 'ave a sister?"

"No comment." Olsen closed the lid. "And you have a one-track mind."

Newkirk stood up and put an arm around Olsen. "Tell me. Does the Colonel know you go elsewhere when you're out and about?"

"Who said I go elsewhere, Newkirk?" Olsen, who was now a bit nervous, decided to end the conversation right then and there. "I have to, uh, check on the dogs. LeBeau's been doing some extra training. See ya." Olsen hightailed it through the door.

"E's got a bird out there," Newkirk murmured to himself. "Well, at least one of us is lucky."

As fall started heading into winter, Hogan continued to refine his mastery over Klink's ego. The colonel found himself ordered to attend dinners or cocktails with visiting generals, and these social occasions planted another germ of an idea in his head. With the assistance of LeBeau as chef, and Newkirk and Kinch as staff, the prisoners were able to steal important information. And soon, to Hogan's surprise, strange opportunities would present themselves at the camp or the surrounding area. Maps, weapon systems and battle plans were somehow left carelessly within reach of Hogan and his ever-expanding band of mimics, pickpockets, artists, photographers and forgers. London was only too happy to keep Hogan supplied with the variety of accoutrements necessary to keep his operation going.

Flyers, escapees and defectors continued coming through the camp on a regular basis. The main team, consisting of Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau, Olsen and Kinch, were kept busy handling pick-ups and drop-offs. All five regularly participated in whatever sabotage jobs came their way, with other men from barracks two occasionally taking part. But, as the frequency of operations increased, so did the danger, and Hogan reluctantly made the decision to limit the number of participants to the core group.

Hogan called a barracks meeting one night and announced new orders from London. "It seems they want us to expand, and I quote; 'You'll assist escaping prisoners, cooperate with all friendly forces and use every means to harass and injure the enemy.'" (1)

"Harass and injure the enemy. You mean the sabotage and attacks?" LeBeau asked.

"Exactly, and that's one reason why I called this meeting. Our efforts in this field have been scattered and dependent on working with the Underground when they go out. We've been given the go-ahead to initiate our own attacks: factories, bridges, etc. That is, if we can get hold of enough explosives. But," Hogan paused, "I've decided for the most part, to have my core team handle most of the missions."

The other men in the barracks objected.

Hogan raised his hand and the men quieted down. "Objections noted. Now, I don't need to give you an explanation, but I will. Like it or not, this is still a prison camp and I'm responsible for the safety of a lot of men. If any one of us is caught, there's a chance every single one of us could be shot as spies and I mean everyone." Hogan let that sink in.

"But, the fewer of us that are directly involved, the greater the chance that won't happen. As it is, I think everyone here in this barracks probably won't be safe. So, I'm willing to transfer anyone to another barracks, no questions asked." No one stepped forward, not that Hogan expected anyone to. "Finally, the Gestapo will have fewer of us to question." That needed no further explanation. "Any questions? No? Good.

"Olsen, you'll still be our main contact on the outside, plus continue with the German lessons. Newkirk, LeBeau; sabotage, attacks and pickups. Kinch, the same, unless you're needed on the radio. The rest of you – actually, the rest of the men in camp – tunnel work and diversions. And if we have a mission where we need more people, I'll tap men from here and the other barracks."

Later that night, the four men now comprising Hogan's core group, found themselves discussing that night's events outside, away from the other men. "A lot of unhappy guys in there," Newkirk said as he lit a cigarette. "They're afraid they'll be left watching the door."

"Yeah, but it makes sense." Kinch was just hoping he would have enough time to deal with both the electronics and work on the sabotage. "The less the rest know, the less they can reveal if they're made to talk."

"Thanks for leaving us with that picture in our head," Olsen chuckled.

"I don't know if the rest of the camp is really safe, Kinch." LeBeau shivered and blew on his hands. "Most of the barracks have tunnel entrances. They all know not to escape."

"Everyone is in on it," Olsen agreed, "But I'd rather be doing something, even if it's digging dirt or forging currency, than sitting here for God knows how long, wishing for the war to end. I think it's worth the risk."

They all agreed with Olsen. After all, they could count the number of new prisoners "sent" back to England on one hand.

LeBeau cornered Olsen before they returned to the barracks. "How are things going with your mademoiselle?"

"Swimmingly."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est swimmingly?"

"No problems, Louis. We had a bit of a rough spot one night, but no. No problems."

"I'm happy for you, mon ami. And it will still be our little secret. Comprends?" LeBeau asked.

"Je comprends, Louis. Thanks. I..." The door to the barracks opened and Hogan poked his head out.

"Olsen, I have a job for you."

"Sure, Colonel." Olsen and LeBeau went inside.

"We just got word that an Underground unit is sending an escapee from Stalag Five this way. I need you to meet him and then make the switch. You'll have to go under the wire. There are too many guards out by the tunnel entrance tonight."

"Got it." Olsen couldn't be happier. A switch meant another stay with the Schnitzer's, and another visit with Heidi. "I'll need a diversion to get to the wires."

"Already set. Newkirk will pretend to faint at roll call and when Schultz is occupied, you take off. Schultz will then call out the dogs and they'll pick up our guest. We'll let Oscar know when to bring you back."

"Sounds good, Colonel." Olsen thought of something. "What's the guy's name, Sir? So I don't spook him."

"Carter, Olsen. Lieutenant Carter."

Finis

(1)The Collector General

A/N Guess I could have called this a prequel! To see how Carter ended up staying in camp, and how he became a sergeant, please read The Informer, Pt. 2.


End file.
